Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof. The spinsters were not kind; they were only curious because she was odd and wore a dress thirty years out of date. McClintock could not browbeat him, storm as he might. He might miss at this distance. “Is this true, Annabel? Is he dead?” She nodded.
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