In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. "Too late!" shrieked the lady, falling heavily backwards,—"too late!—oh!" Heedless of her cries, Jonathan passed a handkerchief tightly over her son's mouth, and forced him out of the room.
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