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Lucy sat beside him. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. See paragraph 1. 8. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. "My child!" he groaned faintly.
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