With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. Of what was she thinking? She must rescue herself. It was better even than the hymn-singing. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self.
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