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Sheppard broke from him, and filled the room with her shrieks. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. She dropped on her knees by his side, and gently unbuttoned his waistcoat. "Thames Darrell once destroyed," pursued Jonathan. Sheppard, "and, if it please you to visit your indignation on any one let it be upon me, and not on your excellent husband, whose only fault is in having bestowed his charity upon so unworthy an object as myself. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. Wary they might be. Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning.
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