“Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. White will present her bill. He is the kind of man who would much prefer a little dust in his eyes. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. He rang the doorbell, even though she had already cracked the door for him.
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