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" "Two can play at that game, my blood," replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. Jack's complexion was that of a gipsy; Darrell's as fresh and bright as a rose. "To shoot you would be to lose the reward. She gained her room, and slammed her door and locked it as though she feared violence and pursuit. I will shed no more blood. If I did not love you en désespoir, I would assuredly blow off your head. We simply can’t get away. " Jack approached her. Not daring, however, to listen to it, he ran on. Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof. Lucy's ears were singing.

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