" "Very well, Sir," replied Sheppard. ” Capes suddenly abandoned his attitude of meditative restraint. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. And so is your companion,—the convict Sheppard. No prisoner except Edgeworth Bess was placed in the same cell with him. Habits and tastes are no longer the same.
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