"You'll be as good as your word, my charmer," whispered the executioner. Cowering in a corner upon a heap of straw sat his unfortunate mother, the complete wreck of what she had been. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. She heard it open, but as she felt unable to look round in a careless manner she pretended not to hear it.
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