She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. After all, life had still its pulsations. You see—I didn’t understand. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. A young man was playing the banjo. " "I will," replied Sheppard, dashing the glass from his hand.
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