They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. On some insane score she fancied she had to state her case in verse. 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. "And now, mark me. I've been hunting for this particular job for a thousand years!" She smiled a little sadly over this fine enthusiasm; for in her wisdom she had a clear perception where it would eventually end—in the veranda chair. But it is that I have a very bad temper, you understand.
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