Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. But probably not the truth. “And aren’t there fees to pay at the Imperial College?” her aunt was saying—a disagreeable question. In fact, the reflection of the flames lighted up the ward in which Jack Sheppard was confined. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. Sheppard, returning his embrace with all a parent's tenderness. He continued to do this for the rest of the evening intermittently, in and out, among other topics. As pretty as its owner.
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