She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. She longed to own something lasting, anything, but knew her wishes to be stupid. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story.
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