She did not want particularly to know what had caused his agony, what had driven him back to the old coat. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. Sheppard, with a laugh that cut the ears of those who listened to it like a razor,—"Do not despair! And who or what shall give me comfort when my son is gone? I have wept till my eyes are dry,—suffered till my heart is broken,—prayed till the voice of prayer is dumb,—and all of no avail.
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