Sheppard!" sighed Winifred, as she contemplated the beautiful wreck before her,—"Poor Mrs. And his scarlet coat had nothing to do with it, as Hilary was fond of recounting, for he had been in civilian clothes when they met, as he was tonight. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. Such names shone brightly in the darkness, with black spaces of unilluminated emptiness about them, as stars shine in the night; but now—now it was different; now it was dawn—the real dawn. There is a railroad.
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