Sheppard staggered forward. Ann Veronica, after a last survey of the dinner appointments, followed him, rustling, came to his side by the high brass fender, and touched two or three ornaments on the mantel above the cheerful fireplace. ‘You are mad,’ Gosse uttered, and only just had time to get himself up from the floor. Blueskin will go with you,—for fear of a mistake. And we won’t make it so. He shook his head all the time.
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