The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. Sheppard,—"pray let me go. I want you to think of me just as if I was a man, and quite outside marriage altogether. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. You know—if you want freedom.
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