Sheppard staggered forward. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. She placed the freezer back on top of Ray Plote's old hiding place, now his permanent resting place. "Captain," he cried, in a voice of the bitterest anguish, "have these dogs again hunted you down? If you hadn't been so unlucky, I should have been with you before to-morrow night. We’ve deserted the posts in which we found ourselves, cut our duties, exposed ourselves to risks that may destroy any sort of social usefulness in us. "He wouldn't hurt a rabbit. His complexion was pale; and there was something sinister in the expression of his large black eyes.
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