Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. . I am bothered. ‘Well, only look what’s come of it. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. If he got her outside, surely the soldiers would see her and intervene. So I've grown hard—outside. It was true. —'How so?' says I. “So is Mr.
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