There wasn’t, I know, between myself and my father. For a moment he believed this merely a new phase of the dream. Ann Veronica took off her jacket and sat down in the corner chair, and leaned forward to look into the great hazy warm brown cavity of the house, and Ramage placed his chair to sit beside her and near her, facing the stage. 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. It isn’t as though I haven’t done well. He really deserves a better fate, does he not? He is so beautifully persistent. Come on. "Mother!" cried the son, "help!" "What is this?" shrieked Lady Trafford, raising herself on the couch, and extending her hands towards him.
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