So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. " "Two can play at that game, my blood," replied Sheppard, rising, and putting himself into a posture of defence. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. Shari regaled Lucy with soap operatic tales of boy-girl intrigues at the high school, then spoke of her aspirations for the future. He did not think of her as a killer, he could barely conceive it.
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