But was that enough? Dim, formless suspicions of something more vital wandered about his mind. Here, it might be anything at all. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. Sheppard, struggling to escape, and holding the infant at arm's length; "have mercy on this helpless innocent!" And the child, alarmed by the strife, added its feeble cries to its mother's shrieks. Montague Hill. “I’ve tried to make words tell it.
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