Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. I thank God for the very skin that is peeling from your nose, for all things great and small that make us what we are. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. He pulled on her shoulder, bringing her mouth to his in a kiss.
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