"Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. You can’t do without an agent, and there’s no one can run you better than I can. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. Like carpenter, like chips. Still he looked hale and hearty, and the country life he led had imparted a ruddier glow to his cheek. Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth.
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