” She pressed her ear to the door. " "Marriage and hanging go by destiny," observed Wood, after a pause; "but I trust your child is reserved for a better fate than either, Mrs. . The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured.
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