Sheppard, with a vehemence that shook even the hardened wretch beside her, "begone, and tempt me not. Her heart was beating with quite unaccustomed vigour, her hands were hot, she was conscious of a warmth in her blood which the summer sunshine was scarcely responsible for. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. “Home, of course,” she answered. Now, in her old place, she was doing her best thoroughly to enjoy a most indifferent dinner. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. The time was the 26th of November, 1703: the place, the Mint in Southwark. It was impossible to meet the motion bodily.
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