Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail. Rowland's purposes were, however, defeated in a manner as unexpected as appalling. He helped himself to a beer, then a vodka and tonic, then two rum and Cokes. None saw, though all felt, his presence, and heard the thunder of his voice. " "But I'm used to that, Hoddy," she said, eagerly.
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