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My only love is for my poor lost son. The will to live had returned. And it is not at all his affair. The warm September sun fell strongly on this part of the grounds, uninterrupted by trees, its light bouncing off the glass in the mansion’s walls. ‘How could you? No wonder mademoiselle is angry with you. Sheppard. Drummond,” he continued, looking across at his vis-à-vis, “we look to you to give expression to our sentiments.
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