“Well,” she said. Sheppard despairingly. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. It was fastened inside. “I saw him stagger and sink down, and the pistol was smoking still in my hand. “Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead.
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