‘Good. Sheppard, bitterly. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. Sheppard. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs.
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