The Vorsack house bore the stamp of Diane in every visible spot. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. From the threshold she looked her accuser steadily and coldly in the face. He was always anticipating, stepping into the future, torturing himself with non-existent troubles. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. As absurd as that you take this interest in my affairs. Sheppard. "Bravo!" cried the thief-taker approvingly.
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