He read but little, and that chiefly healthy light fiction with chromatic titles, The Red Sword, The Black Helmet, The Purple Robe, also in order “to distract his mind. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. 265 The madness crept around her like smoke under a door. With her foodle doo! "I've a toast to propose," cried Sheppard, filling a bumper.
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