Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. But no more of that. But the world didn’t do that. Here was not the individual against whom she had been warned. Though encumbered by his irons, his step was firm, and his demeanour dignified. ‘Moi, je vais vous tuer!’ ‘I don’t think so,’ Gerald said through his teeth. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. There was a long silence between them. The action steadied him; and there was a phase of irony, too, that helped. Caliban absolutely crowed with delight.
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