He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. It was then, I am sure, empty. The light fell upon the fugitive, who stood before him in an attitude of defence, with the child in his arms. Sheppard. They were a dull grey, but the dark frizzed hair that framed her face was attractive. It had neither succumbed to her nor wrathfully overwhelmed her. “I imagine,” Sir John said, “that your sister would acquaint him with it.
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