Sheila’s own waif of a husband had objected to her airing the truth, he had even gotten the nerve to bring up the word divorce. Though they do, in secret, I believe. “I love this warm end of summer more than words can tell,” he said. She never had been much of a looker, but she had stopped worrying about such things long ago. Sheppard," said the carpenter, advancing to meet her, and trying to look as cheerful and composed as he could; "what brings you to town, eh?— Nothing amiss, I trust?" "Nothing whatever, Sir," answered the widow.
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