Then she put more coal on, piled it over the ashes, and stood once more upright. "Jack Sheppard's fingers are lime-twigs. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing. Perhaps these few words were the first real conscious words he had uttered in days. She tried to think what she should do in this eventuality or that.
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