’ Gerald hissed in a doubtful breath. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. ‘Oh, you are making a game with me. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils.
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