. ‘It had better not be, by God,’ had barked Captain Hilary Roding. Kneebone, his impertinence was copied to the letter by Solomon. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. 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.
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