Sheppard superior to her station. "You musht do dat shob yourself, Mishter Vild," rejoined Abraham, shaking his head. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. It was not without considerable demur and delay on the part of Sharples that the carpenter and his companion could gain admittance to the round-house. "You've won your wager.
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