He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. . Only a book detective could dope this out. ” “My wife was astounded—wounded beyond measure. “Does he ever ask about me?” She asked, feeling like a cuckolded old maid. But while there's life there's hope. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. I've come to take you back home. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. Pottiswick had mentioned muttering. "Is it you?" "It is," replied Sheppard, as he untied the cords. To-morrow I shall come and talk to you again—of other things.
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