‘Now be sensible, Melusine, and let me help you. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. He can't be far off. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. “Thank you—and good-bye.
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