’ Obediently, Gerald rose and walked to the other end of the parlour. Hang the wench! Roding was right. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. 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. And yet, she would be easy prey in her present state of mind to any plausible, attractive scoundrel.
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