"Hush!" she said, putting her lean fingers to her lips. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass. " "Is Mr. "What?—help take care of him? Why, you can't do that, Miss Enschede!" was the protest. "And now, widow," continued the ruffian, setting down the candle, and applying his lips to the bottle neck as he flung his heavy frame upon a bench, "I've a piece o' good news for you. Pretty good stuff, some of it. “I have loved you,” he was saying, “ever since you sat on that gate and talked.
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