But his grief was of short duration. Sheppard. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. ‘Come, come, ma’am,’ he said smiling. " "Then you are taking me on?" Spurlock's eyes grew soft like those of a dog that, expecting the whip, saw only the kindly hand.
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