Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. "Our talking will not bother him. His smile faded. Her fingers rested upon his. She was sorry to find Ramage a little disposed to be melancholy. . Too much, perhaps.
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