" Half an hour later she laid aside the book. “Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. 1. Thus died Jack Sheppard. He looked like a French boy soldier she had once glimpsed marching towards his death in one of the battles they would later call the Hundred Years War. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. Voilà tout. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. That’s the fact about them. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object. It was Annabel’s. And you shall have a share of the gold for yourself.
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