She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. "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. She had fallen asleep on the wooden bed, uncaring of lice or bedbugs. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. She, perhaps, displayed herself rather consciously as a fine person unduly limited. Before he could recover from the stunning effects of the blow, Wood possessed himself of the child: and, untying the noose which had been slipped round its throat, had the satisfaction of hearing it cry lustily.
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