Her situation was perplexing her very much, and the Widgett atmosphere was lax and sympathetic, and provocative of discussion. So kind, so good to me always. ” She pressed her ear to the door. She was fiercely and bitterly jealous. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. ‘Pitiful.
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