"Dead!" echoed the boy. "Mine died while I was over here. The gallows is in view—I see it with all its hideous apparatus!—ough!" and shuddering violently, she placed her hands before her, as if to exclude some frightful vision from her sight. "Mr. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. I was forced to lay on a bed of nails for three days. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend.
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