The thing is, Miss Charvill —’ ‘He told you my name?’ cut in Melusine, surprised. Pray, walk in. 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. “Sit down,” he said, and perused—“perused” is the word for it—for some moments.
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