"I was," answered Sheppard. To escape one phase of loneliness she had plunged into another, so vast that her courage sometimes faltered. Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. And it’s no good pretending there is one when there isn’t. . ” “It’s some sort of delirium,” said Capes.
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