The gun flew from his hand, clacking on the floor. “I believe so. I don’t feel it. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped. Without Sheila, the denizens of the neighborhood might forget they had the ability to communicate with each other. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. Love and companionship. It was a reputation by no means deserved.
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