"Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. “It was perhaps my fault. He had nothing to guide him; for though the torches were blazing ruddily below, their gleam fell only on the side of the building. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. “I first saw you crossing the river Arno, after a spring rain had spoiled the day for everyone except the ducks. On that basis alone, he had no right to give or accept love.
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