In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. After all, life had still its pulsations. When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid. Agreeably he helped her take the shirt off. The inn was a military haunt. . This obstacle removed, he thought he might now make the attempt. He begged their attention for the next turn. "Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content.
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