John picked it up and put it in her hands. Sheppard's dress—extremely neat and clean, but simply fashioned, and of the plainest and most unpretending material,—offered nothing assailable; and her demeanour was so humble, and her looks so modest, that—if she had been ill-looking—she might, possibly, have escaped the shafts of malice preparing to be levelled against her. Her father had smiles ready for her, he seemed to be truly happy with her for the first time since her infancy. I don't want her hurt.
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