She seized the key, and he grasped her hand and squeezed it roughly and painfully between the handle and the ward as she tried to turn it. Ennison listened, and he forgot where he was. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. Spurling had retired for the night. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. “Have to take your turn,” he remarked laconically. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. Jack Sheppard is now wholly in my hands. No pistols, no daggers today?’ ‘Would you have me show a pistol with so many soldiers? I am not a fool.
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