"Why, of hanging the fellow who acts as his jackal; one Blake, or Blueskin, I think he's called. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. ‘Jacques, do not die while I am gone. It was the bitterest moment of her life. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door.
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