’ ‘A pretty tale. ” He stood still, looking at her. Horribly skinny he was, and short too. I cannot tell you much about it, but my bad times are over for the present. That’s— that’s my private life. So long. The poor widow was thrown into an agony of distress on learning that a robbery had been committed, in which her son (for she could not doubt that Jack was one of the boys,) was implicated; nor was her anxiety alleviated by Mrs. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Just then—I was nervous.
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