Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. He embraced her small body in his arms, kissing her forehead over and over. The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. He shot at me at the ‘Unusual,’ and the magistrates bound him over to keep the peace.
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