"It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling. But Sheppard was not to be silenced. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. Once more he was the searcher. The confirmed drunkard's mouth at length sets itself peculiarly; it becomes the mark by which thoughtful men know him. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his.
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