"It is," replied Sheppard. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. ‘The outcome, I think, is in very little doubt. "Your health, Kneebone. Ruth loved him. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. But on this matter my mind is quite made up. She would be surrendering to all her impulses—particularly the good impulses—many of which society had condemned long since because they entailed too much trouble. Then came the shock of the knowledge that soon he would be going upon his way, that there would be no one to depend upon her; and all the old loneliness came smothering down upon her again. She stepped backwards. “Hey, John. He has been bottling it up all the way from West Kensington.
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