"Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard. ‘Sit down, won’t you?’ He crossed back to Roding and said low-voiced. No, never mind about thanking me. He has no imagination, no real generosity. You are wholly in my power. Both arm-chairs had been moved a little so as to face each other on either side of the fender, and in the circular glow of the green-shaded lamp there lay, conspicuously waiting, a thick bundle of blue and white papers tied with pink tape. Do you understand?” “I do not,” he answered. Something draws everybody. There are men in the Lowndean who laugh at him—simply laugh at him.
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