“MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. "You'd better surrender quietly, Jack," he cried; "you've no chance. With his arms bare, the neckband of his shirt tucked in, he laboured. But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully.
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