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The Magdalene. Sheppard had been interred. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. “Well,” she said, “good-night, father. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. "You will be wanting your broth, Hoddy," she said. How's that strike you?" "Very well, sir.
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