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She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. “I want to know who you are. “Perhaps one talks nonsense about a woman’s instinct,” she said. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. "Your son," answered the boy. Wood.
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