Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. They leave them out of novels—these incompatibilities.
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