Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. I’ve thought that out, and you must make up your mind to it. After these dinners they would have a walk, usually to the Thames Embankment to see the two sweeps of river on either side of Waterloo Bridge; and then they would part at Westminster Bridge, perhaps, and he would go on to Waterloo. Retreating as quickly as he could, Jack opened the first door he came to, entered a room, and searching in the dark for some place of concealment, fortunately discovered a skreen, behind which he crept. I do not wish to blow off a head, you understand. —There, Mr. “This is MY thing,” said Ann Veronica, softly, with thoughtful eyes upon him.
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