Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. ” She put her wrists upon his shoulders, feeling him surge with the pride of his own masculinity as she touched him. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. With this person—who was no other than Mr. Stanley admired and detested him in almost equal measure.
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