So this was what it was all about. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. ‘But if you must fight so furiously, I don’t see how I can promise not to do it again. She was perhaps three-and-twenty, and very pink and healthy-looking, showing a great deal of white and rounded neck above her business-like but altogether feminine blouse, and a good deal of plump, gesticulating forearm out of her short sleeve. 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.
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