Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. She had delicate oval features, light, laughing blue eyes, a pretty nez retroussé, (why have we not the term, since we have the best specimens of the feature?) teeth of pearly whiteness, and a brilliant complexion, set off by rich auburn hair, a very white neck and shoulders,—the latter, perhaps, a trifle too much exposed. Sheppard, who had been stricken down by the blow that prostrated her assailant, looked up, she perceived Jonathan Wild kneeling beside the body of Blueskin. She had to resist an impulse of sheer terror, to run out after them and give in. I was worried. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke.
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