Wild," said Sheppard. . ” He put his hands in his pockets, his mouth puckered to a whistle, and he went to the door of the outer preparation-room and stood there, looking, save for the faintest intensification of his natural ruddiness, the embodiment of blond serenity. Spurlock grew cold. The farmer was a widow who was slightly famous around town for his prize cows and slightly more famous for his good looks.
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