" "Yes, I will," replied Jack sullenly, "if you beat me in that way. “I repeat, gentlemen,” he said, in an ominously low tone, “what of it?” Drummond shrugged his shoulders. But Jonathan was not to be deterred. She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. She traveled through back yards and quiet side streets on her way home, careful to avoid the main thoroughfares, fraught as they were with people in cars who would recognize her person or notice her dress. It wasn’t anything splendid, you know. I'm an old hand at such things. 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. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words warmed her cheek.
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