"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 lost control of the machine, was upset and nearly killed. She resolved not to allow him or her hunger detract from the performance at hand, as it would be a special one, an evening to be remembered in the gray days to follow like a precious jewel. \"Want your pencil back?\" She asked him warily, squinting. Then making a pretence of stooping to rearrange her flowing train, she glanced at Anna, and half stopped in her progress down the room. He sent me flowers. Brown was no fool, and he understood the sudden onus of the other children to share the limelight. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet.
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