"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. He still wore his hat, to show that the days of miracles and Christ being civil to sinners are over forever. She enjoyed preparing the evening meals, the smells of potatoes roasting in the oven, the stink of onions in the pan, the crackle of chicken frying. She interrupted. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer. So this was what it was all about. “I do not blame him.
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