There was the stile on which Jonathan had sat, and he recollected distinctly the effect of his mocking glance— how it had hardened his heart against his mother's prayer. And pouring the contents of a small powderflask into a bumper of brandy, he tendered him the mixture. The gallows has groaned for him for years. " "Surely, you haven't stolen it?" "Stolen's an awkward word.
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