It was an unspoken curfew in the Beck house on week nights. 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. If you have not been arrested, we have been disturbed; and it is but just and reasonable you should pay for occasioning such disturbance.
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