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Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. The completest capitulation would not wipe out that trouble. Kneebone," she added, with a glance at that gentleman, which was meant to speak daggers, "will do as he pleases. “Touch a hair on his head and you will insure that I will never make love to you again. You will agree with me when you have heard what I have to say.
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