” She finished her breakfast and strolled out across the garden with the letters still in her hand. “You are in trouble,” he said. 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 order was promptly obeyed, and the horses proceeded at a furious pace along the Edgeware Road. “Well, I don’t know,” she said thoughtfully. “Please don’t be sad. My reply to all of them has been the same.
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