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. ” He looked at her very gravely. “Yes,” he said, “I want to get away. A little love from him would be enough. He had informed her that to leave him would be a choice to live a life of meager subsistence. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time.
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