Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. At first she thought that the woman was just a servant. ” She found it difficult to begin thinking, and indeed she was anything but clear what it was she had to think about. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ‘This is not love, Marthe. He was completely, devastatingly handsome.
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