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The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “You too were deceived. ‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs. ” “He probably does not know of the relationship,” Annabel remarked.
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