. . . . It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. "O Massa Ireton! Massa Wild!" ejaculated Caliban, "Shack Sheppart gone!" "Gone? you black devil!—Gone?" cried Ireton. But he had shown no desire for information, no curiosity. " "Won't you take me?" "No; you must await my return here.
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