"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. Sheppard looked fixedly at him, as if she would penetrate the gloomy depth of his soul. The tension was palpable. So while he talked to this girl of work and freedom, his slightly protuberant eyes were noting the gracious balance of her limbs and body across the gate, the fine lines of her chin and neck.
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