It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. “We must go. 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. No doubt there’s some little mistake. G. Fast and Loose 415 XXIII.
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