” He said flatly. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us. Sheppard returned no answer. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. “Yes. She went on from street to street, and all the glory of London had departed. But all that could be ascertained in the village was, that a man had ridden off a short time before in the direction of London.
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