Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. With his black and gray hair, his gray-green eyes were a striking contrast and he looked even younger, as if he had been frozen at age thirty-three. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. You're a queer lad. . ’ Kimble’s eyes widened.
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