What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. Sheppard, hastily; "is that the name?" "Ay, ay, now I look again it is Trenchard. You are my wife, and I am determined to claim you. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. I do not love any one. She wallowed for a time in the thought of Capes, unable to escape from his image and the idea of his presence in her life. Sheppard, gently, "nor do I need any.
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