Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. He had forgiven everybody. Sheppard in a troubled voice, "that if I lost my child, I should lose all I have left in the world. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again.
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