From one window the beach was always visible; from another, the stores. 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. It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. At the end of two long lines of foot-guards stood the cart with a powerful black horse harnessed to it.
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