Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you. " "Not at fisticuffs, perhaps," interrupted Jack, fiercely; "but I've my knife. ’ ‘But you must want more. Every one else does. A vast indifference settled down upon him. Sleep did not come easily, but eventually her mind stopped its chattering and she fell into a deep slumber. John, he was between me and the door. "Will you write," asked the doctor, "and tell me how you are getting along?" "Oh, yes!" "The last advice I can give you is this: excite his imagination; get him started with his writing.
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