Don’t take my word for it though. Lucy propped Michelle against a thick, knobby tree stump. 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. He looked about for his hat, and put it on.
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