Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. Nay, for aught I know, some of them may even now have got scent of me. Her sense followed the shoulders under his coat, down to where his flexible, sensitive-looking hand rested lightly upon the table. Under this unnerving scrutiny, a slow flush mounted to the woman’s cheeks. " "I don't require it," returned Sheppard. And they had an idea of what men were like behind all their nicety.
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