Mr. She leaned forward in her chair, as if petrified in fear by the scary story. Three short days. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. 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. If so, do not hesitate to tell me.
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