Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. White——” “No more,” Sydney Courtlaw begged, laughingly. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Before midnight, your nephew shall be safe beneath the hatches of the Zeeslang. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. Like a trollop in heat. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him. "Nobody shall," cried Mr.
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