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. ’ She was obliged to acknowledge the justice of this complaint, and moved further into the passage to allow the men access. Then we find out. “Lady Ferringhall, sir. "It's strange the antipathy he bears to Sheppard. ‘I’m only a poor country wench, child. " "On the contrary," rejoined Smith, looking askance at his companion, "I happen to know you're in the right.
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