But he has since acquitted you of any share in it. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. Sheppard, clasping him with a hand that burnt with fever, "I have been ill—dreadfully ill—I believe delirious—I thought I should have died last night—I won't tell you what agony you have caused me—I won't reproach you.
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