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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. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. ‘But can you? You don’t know Melusine for Mary Remenham’s daughter, any more than I do. But, though the latter was somewhat embarrassed by his burthen, he peremptorily declined Jonathan's offer of assistance. The latter appeared to contain several papers, which Jack carefully put by, in the hope that they might turn out of importance in a scheme of vengeance which he meditated against the thief-taker. “I haven’t a scrap—of this sort of aversion.
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