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. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. But when she learns that you are a fugitive from justice….
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