Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. I'm used to insult as I am to misfortune, and am grown callous to both; but I'm not used to compassion, and know not how to take it. ” “I wonder,” said Mr. " The chair was then opened. 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. She ought to have been disposed to faint and scream at all these happenings; she ought to have maintained a front of outraged dignity to veil the sinking of her heart. She had viewed them askance, and without exchanging ideas with any one else in the world about them.
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