“But perhaps I want to confess them. You have only to look resolute and proceed upon your way. Kneebone was attired in the extremity of the mode. Do not remain with me. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. Sorry to be so nosy. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief.
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