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Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. Mr. She regarded him coldly, as though wondering whether he had anything further to say. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. Sheppard. That is why I would not marry this man whom I did and whom I do care for a little. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. It was perfectly legitimate. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence.
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