When she awoke, her husband held her hand as 31 Sebastianus urged her to drink weak wine. “It was a phase,” she said. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement. “That,” she answered, “is far easier to believe. 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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