Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. 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. They would arrive sometime in June. Say, that girl fooled me at first glance. Ramage—about the forty pounds.
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