Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. 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. Mercifully, the Peters had moved to Rhode Island about six months after the tragedy.
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