So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. At the least, the tales had the ability to make her forget where she was; which was something in their favour. ‘You are there. Or at least he did the day before yesterday. Indeed I must. I think over all sorts of things. 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.
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