Sheppard, who had again looked round towards her son, beheld a hand glance along the side of the woollendraper. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. She tried for her usual confident tone, but only succeeded in sounding gruff, even to her own ears. “So that’s the way it is. Lots of us are like that. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. The man was mad to marry me.
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