There was a murmur or two among the watchers on the bench, but no one ventured to intervene again. “You will not even answer my letters. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. Sheppard, you mean, Sir," interrupted his wife, ironically. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance.
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