They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. "'Sdeath!" cried Hogarth, aside to the poet. 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. Sir Cecil, who with Rowland and some others had entered the room rushed to the window with a torch.
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