She took his hand in hers. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. She pulled the door so that it was not quite to, and held out her hand, palm up. 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. “Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said. It’s a damned hard thing to do. “Tell her,” said Mr.
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