His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor. In those revolutionary times one had to be prepared. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile. A familiar figure was making his way towards them. Sheppard did not dare to return any answer; but, disengaging herself from his embrace, endeavoured meekly to comply with his request. But Gerald wouldn’t hear of it.
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