"Devil!" cried the widow, catching his arm, and gazing with frantic eagerness in his face, "how many years will you give my son before you execute your terrible threat?" "NINE!" answered Jonathan sternly. " And, once more enveloping himself in darkness, he pursued his course. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards.
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