She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. It was not a hard face, but it was resolute. Sheppard, faintly. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. “Come on. ‘Dieu du ciel, but answer me!’ Martha’s eyes were swimming again, and she reached out. The door was fastened by a catch and a latch with an inside key, to which at night a chain and two bolts were added.
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