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. I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub.
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