Moving back to the corner again, she ran a hand back over the leather-bound books—which, she realised, were not books at all. “He means nothing!” She whispered loudly. " "That's my own concern," rejoined Sheppard. "But bring your glim this way. She did not remember how many seasons it took before she relented, how much time before she decided to toy with his affections. He regretted now that in his idle hours he hadn't hunted up one against the rainy day.
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