To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. Puffy blue curtains dressed every oakstained window. It was only a few months ago that I told you you must come to London, and you only laughed at me. In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him.
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