“She found my collection of witchcraft books under my bed and threw them away. The change in her face was not a pleasant one. The body of Jack Sheppard, meanwhile, was borne along by that tremendous host, which rose and fell like the waves of the ocean, until it approached the termination of the Edgeware Road. He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. I’ve had enough of it. ” She laughed.
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