She fixed her eyes upon it and ran, keeping always as far as possible in the shadow of the hedge, gazing fearfully every now and then down along the valley for the white smoke of the train. It was not for a week or a month. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. ’ ‘Don’t you believe it. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. "I didn't mean to give offence," replied Sheppard, sulkily. You may go back, Marthe. .
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