276 He opened the box. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. Turning, she heaved at the bottom door and slammed it in his face just as he came leaping forward to grab her. I do not want to get only a second-hand flavour of life. " He started to pick up a sheet of manuscript, but she pushed him from the table toward the doorway; and he staggered out of the bungalow, suddenly stretched his arms, and broke into a trot. I pray you, Gérard, do not fail me. Yet either the rest or the wine seemed already to have done him good. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Let alone a girl. She felt scrawny, lanky, badly dressed in a baggy black T-shirt, sweaty, not at all beautiful; not even pretty. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. I—well, I lost my temper. " But this difficulty was only overcome to be succeeded by one still greater.
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