I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. I swore to hang you two years ago, but I deferred my purpose. It's a long time since we met, eight years and more. Before the first month was gone, McClintock admitted that the boy was a find. ” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. “Yes I did.
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