And it is not at all his affair. A few bricks, dislodged probably by his last descent, came clattering down the chimney, and as it was perfectly dark, gave him the notion that some one was endeavouring to force an entrance into the room. Sheppard had been interred. ‘They weren’t no soldiers. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox.
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