Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. A single blanket constituted his sole covering at night. She snapped out of her blissful state and looked at him squarely in the eyes. At night she would turn it in her fingers like a rosary bead. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers.
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