” “She does. Sheppard, again arresting his departure. She ought to be softened and tender and confidential at this phase of her life. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. In short, every contrivance that ingenuity could devise was resorted to by this horde of reprobates to secure themselves from danger or molestation. ‘Say it. Her eyes still had the fevered glow of sickness, yet she seemed in perfect health. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire.
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