Darrell attempted to reply. But at last this ordeal was over, and Ramage opened the door. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. Shotbolt, the head turnkey of Clerkenwell Prison, and Mr. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. There’s something— something ADULT about you.
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