" Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. “Why should I bear the burden of your wickedness? Who knows what might come of it? I shall permit nothing of the sort. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. Still, here we are in this dingy, foggy city. \" He leaned at a steeper pitch. " "But, Lord, man!—don't you ever get lonesome?" "Don't you?" "I'm too busy. So kind, so good to me always. .
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