Sheppard. He was Julian five years younger, the spitting image. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he produced a pocket-flask, and taking off the silver cup with which it was mounted, filled it with the contents of the flask, and then seizing the thin arm of the sleeper, rudely shook it. "Back!" he cried fiercely. A short flight of steps brought him to a dark passage, into which he plunged.
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