Sheppard, again arresting his departure. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. “You don’t know him, Anna,” she said with a little shudder, “or you would not talk like that. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. CHAPTER XIV. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed.
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