"Whist!" exclaimed Terence; "he elevates his glim. "Why you pretended not to recognize the photograph of the young fellow you toted around these diggings all day yesterday. Blueskin is booked. I borrowed forty pounds from Mr. 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. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate.
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