But, when the sound of the carriage-wheels died away, and he felt that she was actually gone, his resolution failed him, and he rang the bell violently. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. "He is respited?" "Alas! no," replied Thames, sadly. Besides, the sun had gone in and it looked like rain. 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.
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