At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. “How’s Mrs. " The spinster had no retort to offer such directness. " "He's coming!" cried Jack, stamping his foot, with vexation. "Ah! Owen Wood, is it you?" cried David in astonishment.
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