"Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. Automatically, she glanced at the slight red graze left on her neck that marked the point where Gerald’s sword had nicked her. “If only I could afford another!” she thought regretfully. "Well," she said, in reply, "I may have done Jack an injustice. Mr. . I want to talk to him and go about with him. The slow stars circled on to the moment of their meeting. Unless we can get some optimism into him, he'll probably start this all over again when he gets on his feet. “I do not like to seem inhospitable, Anna,” she said hesitatingly.
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