Sheppard made an effort to speak, but her voice was choked by emotion. There's the paragraph. She felt like a dried-up old woman. "I dare say she has called to inquire about Jack. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. You cannot care for her. " He laughed and pushed back his chair. " "Who cares if we do?" retorted Sheppard, with a look of defiance. Not conceiving that his sister—feeble as she was, and yielding as she had ever shown herself to his wishes, whether expressed or implied—would depart without consulting him, he was equally surprised and enraged to hear the servants busied in transporting her to the carriage. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river.
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