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Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. Farewell. Instinct had forced her to create something out of rags to satisfy a mysterious craving. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. Folks don’t like ’em. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. It’s true. Very well, then. His foot tapped impatiently, and he took up the papers.
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