Sheppard. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. “An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. ‘I take it that you like this great-niece of mine?’ ‘One cannot help but do so.
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