Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. Her lips were dry and cracked. Washed in light from the vestry window, she held her ground, all thought at bay, bar the steel determination long ago instilled in her by her unconventional tutor. The point is, Spurlock was coming along: queerly, by his own imagination. ’ ‘Very well, Melusine, you win,’ Gerald said unguardedly, and dug his hand into his pocket.
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