" "Awake!—to be sure I am, my flash cove," replied Sheppard; "I'm down as a hammer. And many of these deaths could be avoided if it were not for superstition. At the first glance, he imagined he must have stumbled upon a museum of rarities, there were so many glass-cases, so many open cabinets, ranged against the walls; but the next convinced him that if Jonathan was a virtuoso, his tastes did not run in the ordinary channels. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. '" "Slave?" echoed Jack. She wedged the towel between her legs. Her name was Rhea. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She looked at me as though I were some unclean thing, as though my soul were weighted with every sin in the calendar. He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. She stared out of the paned glass window, watching the trees being blown bare by the gale force.
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