"Don't be angry with me, Thames," continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation. He sat down beside her and stroked her hair. It towered up high above the level of the pass, thousands of feet, still, shining, and white, and below, thousands of feet below, was a floor of little woolly clouds. “To the best of my belief, I have not a single English acquaintance in the city. I shouldn't talk like that.
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