“Of course it is, Anna. We, ourselves, are scarcely the same we were twelve years ago. Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. Hearing the noise of the scuffle, the tapstress, fancying it was Jack making an effort to escape, in spite of the remonstrances of the executioner, threw open the wicket.
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