“Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. “I’m not so sure. I said I knew he disliked and distrusted you and your work—that you shared all Russell’s opinions: he hates Russell beyond measure—and that we couldn’t possibly face a conventional marriage. The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion.
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