" "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. Sheppard. ‘Say it. “I don’t know how to prove myself to you, John. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do.
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