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. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. Lucy pinned her hair off her neck and hoped it would make her to look decidedly older.
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