She waited a few minutes, then greeted the burly doorman who stood as the building’s lone sentry. He was looking pale and ill. Either we go forth together, or they shall bury me. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose. Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail.
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