She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. ‘Nevertheless, he will neither help me, nor will I seek his help. 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 isn’t only the dance,” she said.
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