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. What was the fellow about? Was he being imposed upon? He watched as the man Valade turned back, spreading his hands in the French way. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. She was suddenly grave.
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