‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. Then he goes stony, and beats his way around the islands for another three months. 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. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear.
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