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His hand rested heavily and cruelly upon Ruth's shoulder. Cocked hats and buckled swords spoke of rank. I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. "How long will he be laid up?" "Three or four weeks, if he doesn't peg out during the night.
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