Sheppard. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. The Reaper is not sated yet. He stirred continually, thrusting his legs about and flinging his arms above his head. But you must tell her. She hoped the lights would become hot enough to melt her into the floor. Why? He could preach the Word and deny Love!—tame the savage heart, succour broken white men!—pray with his face strained with religious fervour! The idea made her dizzy because it was so inexplicable.
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