Sheppard in a troubled voice, "that if I lost my child, I should lose all I have left in the world. “What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. He probably imagines himself to be a thousand times worse off than he actually is. Perhaps what urged her interest in the young man's direction was the dead whiteness of his face, the puffed eyelids and the bloodshot whites. These galleries were separated in the middle by iron grates. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us.
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