I saw someone in there whom I have always hoped that I should never meet again. No, don’t let me call myself that. 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. A struggle of the most terrific kind now ensued. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. And the fences are down for good. " "You'll take the consequences, then?" "Willingly.
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