It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. Sheppard looked round, and exchanged kindly glances with several of those who addressed him. It’s not far from twilight. ‘What’s wrong, miss? Ain’t I done right?’ Melusine’s mind was reeling, but she reached out and seized his wrist. He could not tell whether she was English or American. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. Sheppard.
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