"Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. "We'll give them the slip yet, and hang that butcherly thief-taker upon his own gibbet. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed.
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