"What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. When first brought under consideration, she was a miserable and forlorn object; squalid in attire, haggard in looks, and emaciated in frame. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. Wasn’t easy, I can tell you. And now, come and sit by me, my dear, and let's have a little quiet chat together.
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