Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. All they left it was the moon and stars. "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. "Why do you laugh?" he asked. “You love some one else?” he repeated.
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