She doesn't understand; she believes he has taken a sudden dislike to her. 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. “You are their friend, then?” “I am,” Courtlaw answered. It was ten feet long, a relic. I sit back now, letting life slip by and musing upon it; and I find my loneliness sweet. Sheppard.
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