Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. Sheppard. Loving was better than that. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. She had looked forward to an explanation. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort.
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