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. “Suppose you call me by my proper name,” she said quietly. "And you will answer it frankly?" "Certainly. He was a wonderful little creature with a perfect tiny face, mottled pink cheeks, and eyes brighter than May. He glanced up. His face was downcast.
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