"I am here, you see," said the smith. Poor thing! how beautiful she looks! but how like death!" Deathlike, indeed, was the repose of the sleeper,—deathlike and deep. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out.
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