Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. The day comes when you shall regret how you have spoken to me.
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