The last Meeting between Jack Sheppard and his Mother. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy. It is easy enough to sing these little chansons in an original way—it requires a very different sort of ability to succeed on the stage. For the present, he murmured his farewells, and turning, caught Hilary’s eye and walked away, crossing the ballroom to move into the less opulent, and less crowded, saloon next door where servants were dispensing refreshments. Let’s go up to my room.
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