“We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. "It was the story of a man, so to speak, who had left his vitals in his native land and wandered strange paths emptily. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. "Let me see him. Hartford had a very respectable sound. She had asked to borrow his pencil out of dire necessity. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer.
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