By and by she heard the screen door. "One of us has got to die," he panted. “Let’s go in here. "You forgot your lunch," she said. ” She replied. 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. It was something that would create a mutual claim, a relationship.
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