” A shade of concern darkened Carol Diedermayer’s face. Men usually do. Her head swam. My husband, he is cruel and wicked, and—and entirely undistinguished. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. "I love you like a son, and will follow you like a dog. "He would return my letters unopened or destroy them. "But if it is thy will to take me from him," she continued, as soon as her emotion permitted her,—"if he must be left an orphan amid strangers, implant, I beseech thee, a mother's feelings in some other bosom, and raise up a friend, who shall be to him what I would have been. But I do not even care if I am absurd. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. Well, he was executed for murder. She heard their feet and muffled voices.
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