A hand of iron fell upon the scowling young man’s shoulder. “You’re kidding, right?” “Not kidding at all. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. She was beautiful once, Lucia. She thought Alice a bit of a sneak, an opinion her brothers shared, and Gwen rather a snatch at meals.
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