Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his.
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