The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. Sheppard, faintly. Her neck was smeared with red and remorse flooded him. ‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. Nevertheless, relief washed over her, her body rejoicing in the afterglow of twenty years of tension released.
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