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Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. " "Suffer me to proceed," replied the stranger. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. One day her mother swept into the bedroom of the family townhouse, sweeping across the floor with a bundle in her arms.
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