His face was aquiline but sweet, the years had not yet taken the blush from his cheeks and his lips were similarly rubefacient. “How did you find me?” He asked. " "I will," replied Sheppard, dashing the glass from his hand. It’s Providence. ’ He reached into an inner pocket of his coat and brought out a packet of papers. "There," cried Jackson, closing the book and rising, "that'll do. What happened? Did you turn me?” “Yes, my love.
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