Sheppard, as a storm of furious voices resounded from below, and torches were seen mounting the stairs; "they are coming!—they are coming!—fly!—to the roof! to the roof. Many a black veil hid a high-born dame, and the religious habit was no protection. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. They smelled good, but they no longer smelled like food. CHAPTER I. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear.
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