She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. Jack looked towards the door. 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. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. The shouts, yells, and groans which they uttered, and which were echoed by the concourse in the rear, were perfectly frightful. " Her utterance was here choked by sobs.
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