The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. ‘What do you want with me? Why did you catch me?’ ‘You intrigue me,’ he told her frankly. 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. I rather think they have kicked him, from the tone of some of the letters.
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