"That's for myself," rejoined Mrs. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. I don’t think I’ve got illusions, nor you. He frowned. 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.
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