She responded at once, rapping him on the knuckles with her fan. Sheppard. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. "Don't look at it, I entreat," she cried. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Upon this young fellow's face there were no wrinkles, only shadows, in the hollows of the cheeks and under the eyes.
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