"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. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. "Hear me!" cried Thames, bursting into tears. On all hands Jack was cheered, and Jonathan hooted. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it.
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