Sheppard, with startling eagerness. In lieu of it, he still adhered to the sleek black crop, which, throughout life, formed a distinguishing feature in his appearance. She gloried in it: he needed her. Her figure was perfect,—tall, graceful, rounded,—and, then, she had deep liquid blue eyes, that rivalled the stars in lustre. She did not have to investigate that his door was locked. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud.
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