” “And such a beast of a one,” Sydney remarked vigorously. You seemed to me to be slipping and slipping, and your face was white. Man's fate is in his own hands. He saw rifts in clouds—sunshine. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that.
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