"Vell, vell," growled Sharples, after he had listened to the other's remonstrances, "it shall be done. So I undertook to protect her by keeping love out of her life, by crushing it whenever it appeared, obliterating it. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene. Voilà tout. ‘You’ll make shadows. . The Jacobite daws want a scarecrow. They will guess that I am English. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face.
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