" "Then, most probably, it was the widow Sheppard," answered Blueskin, sulkily. Wood," observed Jackson, in a slightly-sarcastic tone. During all their long comradeship he had never so much as ventured to hold her fingers. ‘There’s no controlling you, is there?’ He held up his hands. Believe me, Anna. Sheppard; and, as soon as he could command his feelings, which were considerably excited by the mention of her distresses, he squeezed her hand warmly, bestowed a hearty execration upon his own inhumanity, and swore he would neither separate her from her child, nor suffer any one else to separate them.
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