Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. I want to hear how she does it. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. On the Day he had trumpet-like outbreaks of cordiality, varied by a watchful preoccupation.
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