It would be easy enough for me to write an eloquent letter about something else. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. Time wore on somewhat slowly with the prisoner, who had to control his impatience in the best way he could; but as the shades of evening were darkening, the door was unlocked, and Mr. “I suppose, Mr.
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