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Sheppard, smiling through her tears. That might happen on her birthday—in August. It was clear it must be to-morrow. Ruth wore a printed cotton kimono. It could only mean one thing—that her foster daughter was both a whore and a murderer! When Sheila confronted her about it, it was five in the morning. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. Wood fancied he recognised. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause.

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