After some time, the scuffle grew more and more distant, until nothing could be heard. CHAPTER XVI. I often think of those delightful evenings in Paris. 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. He had seldom been more perturbed. Spurlock slept on.
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