Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. All the fury had left her, swamped by an inexplicable flood of warmth. "Pick up that blade, Nab," vociferated Wild, finding himself hotly pressed, "and stab him. It was Annabel who spoke. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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