The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. It’s one of our conventional superstitions. "His life—or yours?" "No one shall harm you more, my dear," cried Lady Trafford. “Because I hate you!” She spat. A hollow plunge, echoed and re-echoed by the walls, marked his descent into the water.
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