" "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. "What in the world is it?" he asked. Sydney sprang up. The person, shortly afterwards ushered into the room, seemed by the imperfect light,—for the evening was advancing, and the chamber darkened by heavy drapery,—to be a middle-sized middle-aged man, of rather vulgar appearance, but with a very shrewd aspect. It must have cut him. Wood. She struggled fiercely not to give way. She drifted northward from the Strand, and came on some queer and dingy quarters. Nowhere could he see that reaching, menacing Hand. She felt surges of longing escape every corner of her flesh. Sheppard.
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