Sheppard was unwillingly compelled to listen. "Write as I dictate," he cried, placing a pen in the jailer's hand and a pistol to his ear. His face was that of a quick, intelligent-looking boy, with fine hazel eyes, and a clear olive complexion. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. The stranger turned his head at the sound. Sheppard, that I fear any further anxiety might prove fatal to him.
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