"She is. No sterner head was ever beheld beneath the cowl of a monk, or the bonnet of an inquisitor. "You will never leave me," sobbed the poor woman, straining him to her breast. Wood, contemptuously, "he'll never mend till he comes to Tyburn. He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. Besides, by the time they were off his hands, old McClintock would be dropping in to have his liver renovated. .
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