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Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. Sheppard. Here was one of those Americans who would make him breathless before sundown. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. .
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