"He was hanged that left his drink behind, you know, master," rejoined Sheppard. She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. They were filthy after the burial. "Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket. CHAPTER XXXI.
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