There's a man dying—Captain Darrell. Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. Sheppard, which she gratefully declined. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. She wore a black satin dress, a little shiny at the seams, a purposeless bow of white tulle at the back of her neck, and a huge chatelaine. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded. It was a clear, lovely, October morning.
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