Certain phases of irony always caused him to chuckle audibly. Sheppard. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. Stories … love stories: and to-morrow she would know the joy of reading them! It was almost unbelievable; it was too good to be true. Still no sound. Nobody could possibly find him now. ‘Yes, like you,’ she snapped, with a venomous glance, her role evidently forgotten for the moment. ‘Scream and you are dead,’ he snapped, and released her mouth so that he might open the door.
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