"Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips. Unless he deserts the girl, he won't be so hard to find as formerly. “Well, you have thought it over?” he said, sitting down beside her. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. "Safe!" shouted Darrell, as he effected a secure landing. "The lash cuts to the bone.
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