Gregory B. She rose to the fire to stoke it. "Mother, I come to you. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. “Well, no,” she answered. The picture of her flashed across the doctor's vision magically. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. I'll leave these out, and to-morrow you can read them through. " "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood.
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