"If that sickly brat lives to be a man," continued Jonathan, rising, "I'll hang him upon the same tree as his father. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about. ‘This from a man who calls himself my friend. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. “My dad is into this stuff. “Thank you.
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