I swore I would bring your husband to the gallows,—would plunge you in such want, such distress, that you should have no alternative but the last frightful resource of misery,—and I also swore, that if you had a son he should share the same fate as his father. We did not know where to send … in case you died. Sepulchre's church. This whole affair is truly my fault. The arrival of the cart at the end of Field Lane, appeared the signal for an attempt at rescue. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. There was no point in rushing into the long walk home.
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