The proa bore away to the northwest out of which it had come. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. He was caked with dried muck. \" He paused in awkward silence as they walked outside the red double doors. But this only incensed the assailing party the more.
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