‘Odd sort of a nun. I have since received a most extraordinary letter from her. Shall we say at half-past seven?” She rose from her chair. Sheppard, passing her hands over his face, and gazing at him with a look that made him shudder. Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. Both had very singular faces; very odd wigs, very much pulled over their brows; and very large cravats, very much raised above their chins. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described.
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