" "My God!" cried Trenchard, stunned by the intelligence, "I have killed her. Then he threw the letter at me. Having now sealed his letter, Sheppard took a handkerchief, and tying it over Shotbolt's face, so as completely to conceal the features, clapped his hat upon his head, and pushed it over his brows. Then we can look out together for such employment—as would be more suitable for you. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity.
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