I feel a mixture of beast and uncle. I dare not reflect upon the effect that her son's fate,—if the efforts to save him are ineffectual,—may have upon her enfeebled frame, and still worse upon her mind. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. "I knew his poor mother, and for her sake I'll not see this done," cried John Dump.
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