"Where am I to take it to?" asked Sheppard. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them. ‘Or do I arrest you and have these soldiers march you off to gaol?’ A sweep of his arm indicated the array of military strength on the benches, every eye of which was trained on the little scene being enacted before them. With some difficulty, they managed to negotiate the passage with their burden and carry him out into the library.
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