CHAPTER VIII. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. A gust of irrational impatience blew through her being. “I want you so much, Lucy. Every word you utter puzzles me. Spurling has induced him to sit down again. You had better let me go again. He seemed to charge her with the ruin of their situation. " "I can't. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia. Later, at the bottom of that envelope I found a letter. But those days are over—quite over. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard.
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