"Some dreadful deed is about to be committed, which I may perhaps prevent," muttered Jack to himself. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. From first to last, on this occasion, her aunt expostulated for about two hours. If you'd read your husband's dying speech, you'd know that he laid his death at Jonathan's door,—and with reason too, as I can testify.
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