Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. The real ‘Alcide’,” she wound up with a faint smile across the table at him, “is here. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words.
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