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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. She opened the door with a neon colored key. Better come another morning. He passed his arm under that of the constable, and drew him aside. " And, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls.
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