He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. He had barely said, \"Anytime,\" before she shut the door rather rudely in his face. He gave her silence in return. Marvel. A shaft of searing heat plunged downward. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. Jack Sheppard is to me what Thames Darrell is to you—an object of hatred.
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