Lucy stared like an automaton at Michelle’s unconscious 262 body, revolted at her own actions to the point of shock. But it was otherwise with the carpenter. "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. "My mother,—my poor mother!" exclaimed Jack. The rainstorm, short-lived, began to subside.
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