“Soon enough, John. Just as they reached the eastern outlet of the churchyard— where the tall elms cast a pleasant shade over the rustic graves—a momentary stoppage took place. "He's about to cross the river. This one was Henry Esmond, that one the melancholy Marius, and so forth and so on; never any villains. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. Sheppard, raising herself, and looking at him as if her life depended upon the answer.
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