The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man. Sheppard, averting her face to hide her tears. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington. “If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him. That is I saw her. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful. By his side sat a remarkably stout dame, to whom he paid as much attention as it was in his iron nature to pay. Clean water.
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