To be near someone, even someone who made a pretense of friendliness, to hear voices, her own intermingling, would serve as a rehabilitating tonic. The papers are continually wondering what has become of ‘Alcide. Sheppard. That was the only sound he heard. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. "What's that you're taking to Sir Rowland Trenchard's?" "Only a box, Sir," answered Sheppard, emptying the glass.
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