"Ay, murder him, if you like the term," returned Wild. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. " "You don't remember your mother?" "Oh, no; she died when I was very little. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. ‘What the devil for?’ ‘Messenger,’ Gerald explained. Death belongs to God, young man. "Not proud in the least, I declare.
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