“Of course!” he said. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. That’s as far as we go. Their faces were masks of abject horror, sunken and shriveled, their cheekbones protruding. Kneebone, respecting the lawless career of Jack Sheppard, and struck with the probable fate that awaited him, the young man, as he contemplated this scene, fell into a gloomy reverie. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose.
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