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. ’ ‘You saw? Where were you? How did you see?’ ‘Your heroic milice are not as clever as they thought. You will have a bungalow to yourself," continued McClintock, "and your morning meal will be your own affair. You are going to accept a post as chorus girl, or super, or something of that sort. I have a new cult to teach, a new enthusiasm. It’s a sort of blacklegging to want to have a life of one’s own.
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