It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. She was saying good-bye to childhood and home, and her making; she was going out into the great, multitudinous world; this time there would be no returning. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. "May I be cursed," muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollendraper pleasantly observed) 'a couple of boxes in charge,' "if ever I try to be honest again!" "Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. ” She said.
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