Sheppard snatched back her hand from his grasp, and exerted all her force to repel his advances. “Mr. “You are late,” she murmured. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Everett’s gaze dropped to the papers in his hand.
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