"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. Wild," said Sheppard. Through all this flutter of novelty there came and went a solicitous, preoccupied, almost depressed figure. Only her face was clear, frail and delicate, almost flower-like, with the sad haunting eyes ever watching his. Silly, isn’t it? Undisciplined.
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