Vorsack looked pale and pink. A sob was strangled in her throat. Several people were passed out on the sectional sofa, and muffled noises emanated from other rooms indicating that the party’s embers were still smoldering, but John was nowhere to be seen. Neither your aunt nor I have any other thought but what is best for you. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. I stubbornly insisted that we wait, and you woke up. Then a servant girl brought in a telegram. I will pray for you. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. He was so seldom wrong.
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