The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. 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. “I told you I did not love you.
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