Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Or run me through. And she was as shrewd as they come. The signs of tears had all gone, but some subtle change seemed to have stolen into her face.
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