Sheppard, and regarding her with an insolent and threatening glance. “Yes. ’ ‘You, perhaps?’ she flung at him furiously, stepping out from behind the desk. She never grew angry for anything her husband did: such anger as came to her was directed against the lazy, incompetent servant who was always snooping about in the inner temple—Spurlock's study. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Three times she escaped. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder.
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