Her patience was waning fast. “Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. Sheppard's weight had destroyed the equilibrium of the plank: it swerved, and slowly descended. I will make her my Grail, and some day, perhaps, if God wills, she shall become my wife!’” He looked very hard before him as he said this, and his voice was full of deep feeling. "Release your prisoner," continued Wood, "or the window is opened. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust.
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