"I am your most unhappy son. A piece of old blanket was fastened across her shoulders, and she had no other clothing except a petticoat. She wondered abjectly whether he intended to rape her before she was dead. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. Side by side with the cheese (its never-failing accompaniment, in all seasons, at the carpenter's board) came a tankard of swig, and a toast.
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