” Lucy’s nagging worry raised its own status to full blown alarm. But Sheppard took no notice of the exclamation. “Neither you nor I, Nigel, are made of such stuff,” she answered. The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. "Very well, Mr. E. "I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness.
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