Who's the lucky boy, Lucy?\" Lucy looked at her slippered feet. They're only just gone, mercy on us! what a clatter," she added, as the knocking was repeated more violently than before. 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.
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