Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone. “HASSELL’S CAMP, “NEAR COLORADO. And now you know. Rather would I have gone with Leonardo—and he wished me to do so. Wood then led the way up a rather high and, according to modern notions, incommodious flight of steps, and introduced his guest to a neat parlour, the windows of which were darkened by pots of flowers and creepers. Her mind turned to her own future, the endless trickle of years. Wood could stand it no longer.
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