For a space he rode the whirligig. ‘At me,’ she uttered, holding her own pistol high and aiming it steadily. We ourselves have been similarly circumstanced. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it.
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