Stanley poured wine. It was as though he were personally aggrieved. After a careful search below, he could detect no trace of Blueskin. But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. "It is Sheppard—Jack Sheppard—stop him!" And his shouts were reiterated by the pack of bloodhounds at his heels. Then he would come along the laboratory, sitting down by each student in turn, checking the work and discussing its difficulties, and answering questions arising out of Russell’s lecture. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go.
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