"Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. Ennison spoke at last. ‘What was you wanting it for, may I ask?’ ‘You may not ask, for it is none of your affair,’ Melusine snapped. The poor wretch, driven by desperation to the commission of a crime which her soul abhors, is no more beyond the hope of reformation than she is without the pale of mercy. And, without another word, he seized the table with both hands, and upset it; scattering plates, dishes, bottles, jugs, and glasses far and wide. And, come what will, I'll balk him of the satisfaction of hanging me. ” “Never for a second.
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