. . She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. "How is the patient?" he asked. Quite ordinary. Sheppard, who witnessed this occurrence with dismay, looked timorously at Wood, in expectation of some hint being given as to the course she had better pursue; but, receiving none, for the carpenter was too much agitated to attend to her, she ventured to express a fear that she was intruding. She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. Not much. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. Slowly, he drew back his head and looked into her face. “Sure. I should know you—in Heaven or Hell. Sorry I’m a bit late the first evening.
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