It was no use. "Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. I’m not half smart enough for the West End. His countenance was pale as death, but not a muscle quivered; nor did he betray the slightest appearance of fear. Creeping stealthily up stairs, unmasking a dark lantern, and glancing into each room as he passed, he was startled in one of them by the appearance of Mrs. “And then they are swollen up and inflamed and drunken with matter. She became angry with herself. Then he remembered that she was Anna’s sister. The locket contained the face of her mother—all the family album she had. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. Enschede halted. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor.
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