“Lots of ‘em!” Capes chuckled. Its cavernous expanses equaled the upstairs of the house. A gaunt, powerful man: no feature of his face decided, and yet for all that it had the significance of a countenance hewn out of rock. But Sheppard was not to be silenced. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. I’m taking no chances. “Mrs. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so. But between us, we'll have him writing books some day.
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