“It was a phase,” she said. Sheppard repressed the scream that rose to her lips, and both mother and son gazed with apprehension at the heavy figure of the thief-taker, which, viewed in the twilight, seemed dilated to twice its natural size, and appeared almost to block up the window. He was apt to play so many games, she was afraid she might have misunderstood. He swore that I was his wife, that chance had given me to him at last. She could not analyse what was stirring in her: the thought of losing the doll, the dog, and the cat. ‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone.
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