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Open the window, Thames, and call for assistance. “You’ll get me to allude to it, but you’d have to torture me to admit it. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Lucy simply added her own good night, even though a significant part of her wanted to call Cathy mother, she refrained. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself.
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