To walk beside him, dressed akin to him, rucksacked and companionable, was bliss in itself; each step she took was like stepping once more across the threshold of heaven. "Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you. ’ *** Martha sniffed dolefully, scrubbing at her reddened eyes with a large square of damp linen. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. “You see, daddy, I don’t think it IS preposterous.
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