But I do not love you. A knot of three policemen in conflict with her staggered toward Ann Veronica’s attendants and distracted their attention. While this took place, while Quilt thundered at the inner door, and Jack drew back the bolts of the outer, a deep, manly voice was heard chanting—as if in contempt of the general uproar—the following strain:— With pipe and punch upon the board, And smiling nymphs around us; No tavern could more mirth afford Than old Saint Giles's round-house! The round-house! the round-house! The jolly—jolly round-house! "The jolly, jolly round-house!" chorussed Sheppard, as the last bar yielded to his efforts. She did not so much deal with Ann Veronica’s interpolations as dispose of them with quick and use-hardened repartee, and then she went on with a fine directness to sketch the case for her agitation, for that remarkable rebellion of the women that was then agitating the whole world of politics and discussion. In after years, some pitying hand supplied the inscription, which ran thus— JACK SHEPPARD THE END. The next moment, a heavy plunge told that the fugitive had been consigned to the waves. Here, take this youngster, Terry; my legs are lighter than old Nab's. She cried and sobbed in fits.
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