‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. Sheppard, with a deep sigh, perceiving that her benefactor hesitated to pronounce the word. The tired woman looked quietly at her. The pouting cherry lips were slightly parted and the very faintest of panting breaths, together with the quick rise and fall of an alluring bosom, betrayed her fear. Half French. Melusine glanced at the walls as she sped down the four flights of stairs, and noted with relief that some paintings remained. She gulped for air merely, for it had been difficult to breathe with his hand almost cutting off the supply to her lungs.
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