‘Gérard!’ ‘Yes, it’s I,’ he said, and grinned. A door slammed. Mirages, over which he was constantly throwing bridges which were wasted efforts, since invariably they spanned solid ground. A nurse came hurrying up. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. Not my affair, of course, but I think we ought to teach them more or restrain them more.
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