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. “Your father is in the study and wishes to speak to you. He was almost frightening in silhouette, his hair uncontrollable under the best of circumstances, but that changed when you saw his face. I do not believe that you will marry David Courtlaw. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily.
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