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“Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. But Sheppard was not to be silenced. She heard the shower running and looked at his floor. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. "Take my life, if you're so disposed. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen.
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