Sheppard raised her eyes, and fixed them upon her interrogator. It was explosive and gratifying. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. E. Sheppard—becomes entitled to the estates; which eventually—provided he escaped the gallows—would descend to her son. She wondered if he was already tired of her, if he would rudely push her away as one would a prostitute. It might be upset. I demand it as a right.
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