Sheppard, with a frenzied laugh. She dropped the manuscripts and swiftly brought the coat to him, noting that a button hung loose. Something or other—she did not catch what—he was damned if he could stand. What his head conceived his hand executed. "It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard. Annabel Pellissier was not like the others, he said.
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