He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. He righted a chair and sat in it, his face in his hands. "Get a chair, Austin. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. Whisky kills him suddenly; it does not sap him gradually.
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