Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. She nodded. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes. ” Dessert was served. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move.
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