Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. Gay, by his strokes of pleasantry, whether in his writings or conversation, never lost a friend. Then one old crone, short-sighted and shaky-handed, called Ann Veronica “dearie,” and made some remark, obscure and slangy, of which the spirit rather than the words penetrated to her understanding. “Is it any one you know?” Brendon asked. "You've hit it," answered Sheppard. She was with these movements—akin to them, she felt it at times intensely—and yet something eluded her.
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