Her fingers found the lump she sought and, with a little effort, she dragged out the black-wrapped foil. Yes. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. Then there came briskly along the path towards her, an Englishman. But here the resemblance stopped.
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