The thought caused him an odd kind of pang—of pity, naturally. “It is possible, mademoiselle,” he said, “that this affair is not yet ended. Wood fancied he recognised. " "Who cares if we do?" retorted Sheppard, with a look of defiance. "But you do agitate me so much. “You are not content then with stealing from me my name. "I'm not particular about rooms. —D'ye hear?" Still the widow remained silent.
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