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. Then the dagger’s point came in a whirling arc towards his face. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. The period of repression was over.
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