It had been a trying day. She felt the whack from about six feet away, kitty corner. 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. It was the first expression of the mother's blood. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim.
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