Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. Wood with the circumstances, and putting him upon his guard against the possibility of an attack. “Come,” he said, “you can’t be meaning to bury yourself. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey.
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