Sheppard. Trodger laid down their muskets and turned on them. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. A glance down the passage—to see that Roding was not lurking?—and her face came back to Gerald, triumph in her eyes. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation. ‘That is settled then. ‘Yes, th-there it is,’ she uttered, stumbling a little over the words.
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