Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. "Ay, ay," rejoined Sheppard; "he may do what he pleases,—hang me, if he thinks proper,—if you wish it. He moved, after quiet intervals, with a quick little movement, and ever and again stroked his small mustache and coughed a selfconscious cough. But if I were dying of thirst, in a desert, I would not accept a cup of water at her hands.
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