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. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls.
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