“I did it for love of you,” he said. Winifred Wood was now in her twentieth year. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. Sheppard, "and am most grateful for your offer. Her girl Clarice was next, dying within a single day, blood leaking from her pretty brown eyes like an image of the Blessed Virgin. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. But I mustn't think of these things, or I shall grow mad. Heedless, however, of the consequences, he pursued his task. His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. How Jack Sheppard's Portrait was painted.
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