He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. She was instinctively aware of him as she had been of Julian. Sheppard, distractedly. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. " "Who are you!" demanded the fugitive, sternly. " "Are you friendly toward him?" asked McClintock, passing a fine cigar across the table.
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