Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. ’ ‘That is what you thought of me. A live man. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. "Shoot him! shoot him! Put him out of hish mishery," cried the Jew. He murmured his delight, and joined the bridge party, where he played with less than his accustomed skill. Shortly to be executed. “I’d sooner condemn you to Hell.
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