Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. At no time did she feel bodily or mental fatigue. Leaving the library by the same door she had first used to enter it earlier that day, she crossed the two little antechambers and moved on through the rooms. Give me your hand. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. "Now, give me the woollen cloth to tie round my fetters," whispered Sheppard.
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