She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. Will you read to me? I am tired; and the sound of your voice makes me drowsy. "Oh, Rollo, there are so many things I don't know! But you love me, don't you?" Rollo wagged his stump violently and tried to lick her face.
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