“But you yourself,” she exclaimed, glancing into his face, “you too look tired. "Oh lord! I hope not. "What is this?" she wanted to know. ” “To bad rubbish. Sheppard in the asylum, and take her this, and send her that;—and I've never prevented you, though such mistaken liberality's enough to provoke a saint. " "Then, most probably, it was the widow Sheppard," answered Blueskin, sulkily. Then they dressed her in a dirty dress of coarse serge and a cap, and took away her own clothes.
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