150 “Homely. 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. " Her son complied, and sat down upon the patch-work coverlet beside her. Everything goes—the copra for oil, the fibre of the husk for rope, and the shell for carbon. It is I who took the burden of your misdeeds upon my shoulders that you might become Lady Ferringhall. " "Law! Miss," observed the maid, "there's nothing mischievous in the person's appearance, I'm sure.
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