E. Good-bye. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. I've watched this lad—this Sheppard—from infancy; and, though I have apparently concerned myself little about him, I have never lost sight of my purpose. "By George!" he exclaimed. “Oh, but life is difficult!” she groaned. "The doctor and I agreed to give you a chance—for her sake. “I knew you wouldn’t mind.
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