Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. He drifted in and out of consciousness. "May I be cursed," muttered Sheppard, as he slunk away with (as the woollendraper pleasantly observed) 'a couple of boxes in charge,' "if ever I try to be honest again!" "Take a little toasted cheese with the swig, Mr. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. . Your life is like a funeral March. If they hadn't sent for me, you'd have pegged out before morning. ’ The questions that had long haunted her came out at last.
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