"Bravo," cried Sheppard, examining its contents, which proved to be a file, a chisel, two or three gimblets, and a piercer. She dreaded leaving him for the night, but separated herself finally. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. Then he had gone away. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava.
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