” “You came—here!” he repeated, vaguely. Her eyes threatened to leak tears, she blinked. There is no Heaven for your mother. It's gin—a liquor you used to like. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. I can’t. The very sight of these impediments, would have appalled a less courageous spirit than Sheppard's—but nothing could daunt him.
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