” “Then condemn me to Hell. Sharples," replied Quilt; "lock 'em up. We both understood that. You see, I kidnapped poor Jack and made him promise to send me word if you went careering off anywhere. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Tell her, that more than once, when about to commit some desperate offence, I have been restrained by her gentle image. And then I'll pay off old scores. ” Lucy became livid with rage. Lord help him! he's the very image of his father. But she could tell by the dullness of his eyes that he saw only some inner vision. And when I ask you why it is you do so, you have no answer.
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