Sheppard: "nothing can save me. ” She looked at her toes. And mind you don't arouse his suspicions. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. When she saw however that this man was a stranger, and obviously harmless, her expression changed as though by magic.
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