His friendship seemed a thing worth having. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. She leaned forward, her chin in her palms, her elbows on her knees, and she set her gaze upon his face and kept it there in dreamy contemplation. 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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