“Thank you. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. 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. Pausing at each door on the landing, Jack placed his ear to the keyhole, and listened intently. ‘Who is to be angry with you now?’ ‘Miss Prudence, that’s who,’ stated Joan bluntly.
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