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. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. Ann Veronica liked their relationship all the more because it was an unusual one. “I’m sorry. Men and women are not established things; they’re experiments, all of them.
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