Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. Or I should have made love to you long ago. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. ’ ‘You little fiend,’ exclaimed Gerald wrathfully. ’ She eyed him. “Dear me! I wonder where Sir John picked her up.
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