Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. He did not have to. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. “Mr. txt or 15614-8.
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