The arm about her was steel hard, and she felt the weapon that was placed at her heart, which thumped uncomfortably in her chest. 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. It was an odd room, used principally for the reception of guests and visiting dignitaries, packed from end to end with ill-assorted sofas and padded chairs. I am engaged to sing every evening at the ‘Unusual’ music hall.
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