But the indecision, which had been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. The day was unseasonably humid and dark, a thick fog having descended over manicured lawns. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. "Answer me one question first?" he said; "I half suspect you're Jack Sheppard. He will be dependent on you.
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