Jack was not half your age when he died. She let out a delighted laugh. Gerald did not know who she was, but he knew who she was not. 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. “Queer letters he writes,” she said.
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