But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. Conceiving himself called upon, as the intimate friend of the deceased, to pay this last tribute of respect to her memory, he appeared as one of the chief mourners. Tom Sheppard was always a close file, and would never tell whom he married. No one had the resources or the inclination to rebuild them. This was the bitterest hour he had ever known. “Serves you right if I’d cracked your skull.
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