His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. He stamped his last letter as Annabel entered. She felt the warm nearness of his. He lowered himself onto her and entered her slowly, an inch at a time. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party.
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