That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. " "I will," replied Sheppard, dashing the glass from his hand. As soon, however, as the last solemn rites were over, and the remains of the unfortunate woman committed to their final resting-place in Willesden churchyard, his firmness completely deserted him, and he sank beneath the weight of his affliction. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it. He looked like an animated skeleton that someone had hung a smelly 105 brown beard upon. On the stranger's appearance, she was seated near the window busily occupied with her needle.
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