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. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. It isn't for their sakes, it's for your own.
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