Anna, quitting her chair, dropped on her knees by her sister’s side and took her hand. “I think they do. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. They may love us, but they love us as the slave loves his captor, not as equals. They had got all this down already—they heard the substance of it now for the fourteenth time.
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