No one spoke, and she was impelled to flounder on. Her hair and voice and figure are as yours used to be. "You open it, Ruth. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. You don't know what you have got; I do.
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