Once in the room, the door locked, the sense of loneliness had dropped away from her as the mists used to drop away from the mountain in the morning. Sheppard, with an agonized look at Wood. America, the land of rosy apples and snowstorms, beckoned, and she wanted to fly thitherward. He laughed. " "Not quite, I hope," rejoined Sheppard. "Don't swear, Jack, or I shall distrust you. . I can.
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