” 209 Clotilde was no fool. ‘C’est ridicule. “I feel shabby and disgraced. "No," replied Jack, peremptorily. She would just have to show up and hope for the best. 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. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life.
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