She delighted in frustrating him. She could not risk going in the door, lest she run into Larry or Cathy drinking a nocturnal glass of milk or Mike raiding the refrigerator for snacks. Raising him in his arms, Jonathan passed the rope round his body, and in this way the poor boy was drawn up without difficulty. "Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. How long he sat there, reeling off this drivel, he never knew.
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