“Great Scott!” he exclaimed huskily. You can’t possibly understand!” He began a confused explanation, a perplexing contradictory apology for his urgency and wrath. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive. She helped Jack to sit down, and dragged the jacket off him, lifting his shirt to expose the gash that had sliced across his side. ‘That is a very English name. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Very well. Sheppard, faintly. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail.
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