’ Roding’s voice changed. He was the beachcomber, or the old sailor with the black pearl (Ruth's tales), or the wastrel musician McClintock had described to him. I hated the stuff. “Perhaps you will not object to answering one for me. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. "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.
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