‘You must think me a fool, mademoiselle. She would write to Gerald. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. She was shifting, moving back. Sheppard, in a voice of agony. "Something more than whisky did that. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment.
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