She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. He was bewildered. Sir John, who was standing outside, looked past him at the girl still sitting in the shadow. Show him no quarter, Poll. “I am going to break a covenant,” he cried. It was the only way to make the monthly bills. On beholding the intruders, his fears changed to exultation, and he uttered a roar of satisfaction as he glared at them, which could only be likened to the cry of some savage denizen of the plains. Sheppard. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage.
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