So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. Her husband was prouder of her every day. “Sebastianus? Where did my husband go?” He smiled at her gently, patronizingly, as he prevented her from movement or escape. 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.
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