He was and always would be dramatizing his emotions; perpetually he would be confounding his actual with his imaginary self. Sheppard had been interred. So this was what it was all about. "What ho!" he cried slapping Smith, who had fallen asleep with the brandybottle in his grasp, upon the shoulder. ‘Now you see why it is I no longer require the proof of which I have spoken. And it's uncanny. But, after all, what does that matter? He is very much taken with me. Of course, this does not apply to uninteresting old maids," Prudence modified with a dry little smile. And, yet, I don't know. She noticed that this trunk was not littered with hotel labels.
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