The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. 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. Women and men had always flocked to him, covetous of his knowledge, his riches, and if all else failed, his carnal expertise. From the first of these alighted Thames, or, as he must now be styled, the Marquis de Chatillon. To make Ruth pay for the whole shot! To wash away his sin by crucifying her: that was precisely what he had set about.
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