Sheppard had been interred. “Poor Lucy!” Cathy exclaimed as she rushed in the door, umbrella sheathed. “How could it not have hurt?” His analytical side started putting in overtime. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction.
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