From time to time she would come upon a line of singular beauty or a paragraph full of haunting music; and these would send her rushing on for something that never happened. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured. She laughed altogether in her old manner. The last thing that she remembered was her eyes crossing as she tried to focus upon the crunch of leaves as she lay heaving upon them, dampening them further with the outpouring of her sweat as it leaked from her clothing. Besides, it did not fit her well, which was why the loose wimple had slipped. " "Who cares if we do?" retorted Sheppard, with a look of defiance.
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