I won’t tolerate any foreign tongue in this house, least of all that confounded French. You are not my husband. ” “Try what?” She asked, coolly assessing his lithe hips. They were drenched with water and suds. 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.
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