I have never been wrong about the sex of an unborn child. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. "Mrs. She, having all the confidence in the world, ripped off an end and drew out the contents—a letter and a check.
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