“That cannot happen!” She replied, feeling her world start to disintegrate underneath her feet. Sheppard, in a voice of agony. " Sir Rowland, meantime, throw himself on his knees beside his sister, and, clasping her chilly fingers within his own, besought her forgiveness in the most passionate terms. ’ He strode to the fireplace behind the leather-topped desk and addressed his own reflection in the mirror, wagging an admonitory finger in his own face. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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