One of her duties, after she had been taught to read, had been to read aloud after breakfast and before going to bed. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. That was how she projected it, and in general terms it seemed plausible and possible. The pistol fell to the floor. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers.
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