Her steps slowed. Sheppard. Lucia confined herself to her quarters, wondering when they would flee to the country as so many other houses had done. At one moment, it seemed as if the flying bark was about to put to shore. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. “I think she would,” she decided. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband.
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