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CHAPTER XXII. Sheppard had been interred. A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. Then suddenly her spirit rose in revolt. “What was that?” she asked sharply. Lucy felt the hairs on her neck rise. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account.
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