Anyhow, it were me as got you down to the wetnurse. He never cries nor frets, as children generally do, but lies at my bosom, or on my knee, as quiet and as gentle as you see him now. She leaned back in her chair. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. "Don't be angry with me, Thames," continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation.
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