Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. He folded the garments carefully and replaced them on the chair. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her.
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