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. The poor old imbecile! Why, this child was a firebrand, a wrecker, if ever he had seen one; and the worst kind because she was unconscious of her gifts. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. She saw his eyes glaze over.
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