. Then I saw Mrs. Sheppard's ward, Sir. ” It was a tiny little room, daintily furnished, individual in its quaint colouring, and the masses of perfumed flowers set in strange and unexpected places. The babies that the woman—your wife—refused to stop creating. I sang to him, and he was satisfied. ” He ruminated for a minute. Much more temperate; the discreet and joyless love of a virtuous, reluctant, condescending wife.
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