“Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. She would be enduing this chap with attributes he did not possess, clothing him in fictional ruffles. “Why can’t he reason with me,” she said, again and again, “instead of doing this?” Part 3 There presently came a phase in which she said: “I WON’T stand it even now. "I'm your dupe no longer. She leaned back as he climbed on top of her and kissed her mouth again.
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