"Couldn't you speak to him?" "What?—and be insulted for my trouble? No, thank you!" "That is it. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. I have had no one but for you. I don't want her hurt. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. Mr Jarvis’s sister, that was. Profoundly. And it filled seven sheets of notepaper, each written only on one side. "You've perjured yourself. Sometimes a whole morning would pass without Spurlock uttering a word beyond the request for a drink of water.
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