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. Taking up a couple of large stones which lay near, Jack tried to beat the round basils of the fetters into an oval form, so as to enable him to slip his heels through them. ’ ‘Don’t call me by name,’ she snapped. A broken laugh followed the action. Asking her way once or twice, she passed along Fleet Street into the Strand, and crossed Trafalgar Square, into Piccadilly. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. Looked all over that dratted convent of yours—or at least Trodger and the men did so—but no sign of them.
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