F. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. ‘No, I do not go back. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. She has also been afflicted with occasional returns of her terrible malady.
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