It was instantly answered by the deep note of St. Wood's daughter,—to whom, I've heard tell, he was attached years ago,—was brought up, his courage forsook him altogether, and he trembled, and could scarcely stand. Then she turned, and entering the inner room, commenced to dress hastily for the street. “I’d never have a day of peace again, John. As she talked, the drift and significance of what she was saying shaped itself slowly to Ann Veronica’s apprehension. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged.
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