There was no such a thing as perfection in a mixed world. ‘You will have to prove it, you know,’ Gerald said quietly. Sheppard was no sooner alone than she fell upon her knees by the side of the couch, and poured forth her heart in prayer. To write under a pseudonym!—to be forced to disown his children! He could not write under his own name, enjoy the fruits of fame should these tales prove successful. The wings stopped.
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