“Why should one pretend?” she whispered. . At the thought of the major, her tears redoubled and she was obliged to rip off a piece from the remnants of her already maltreated underpetticoats with which to blow her nose and soak the damp from her cheeks. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. "I say," retorted Edgeworth Bess, with a very unfeminine imprecation, "I shan't stand any more of that nonsense.
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