She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. 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. Too much, perhaps. Kneebone, addressing his comely attendant; "put a few more plates on the table, and bring up whatever there is in the larder.
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