Sheppard," cried the carpenter's wife bitterly; "and, I repeat, Bedlam's too good for her. She ran through the backyards of Pinecrest subdivision, piano wire and a slim jim tucked into her pantyhose. She was quite assured that she would never see him again. She pulled the trigger. It was from Brendon. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. He's as nice and civil-spoken a gentleman as need be; by the same token," she added, in an under tone, "that he gave me a span new crown piece. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye.
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