A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. Then she called a hansom and drove home. The boy doesn't know it, but I dug into his trunk for something to identify him and stumbled upon some manuscripts. She could tell that he was leering at her. She found it extremely difficult to infuse an air of quiet correctitude into her return through the window, and when she was safely inside she waved clinched fists and executed a noiseless dance of rage. Sheppard. “You were born for great things,” he said huskily.
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