"Look quick, d—n you, or we shall never master him!" "Murder!" shrieked Mrs. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. It was a mad half-hour. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. ***** October. And, then, forsooth, she must needs prevent your hanging Jack Sheppard after the robbery in Wych Street, when you might have done so.
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