“My husband!” she laughed a little derisively. "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. It was a port of call, since fortnightly a British mail-boat dropped her mudhook in the bay. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards.
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