He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Sheppard heaved a deep sigh, and opened her eyes, which now looked larger, blacker, and more melancholy than ever. You know, I’ve done no work at all this afternoon. . ’ Gerald unfolded his arms and threw his hands in the air. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. 1.
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