You can’t do that sort of thing unless you do it over religion, and there’s no religion in me—of that sort—worth a rap. “Showtime!” Martin cried. At this terrible juncture, Jack maintained his composure,—a smile played upon his face before the cap was drawn over it,—and the last words he uttered were, "My poor mother! I shall soon join her!" The rope was then adjusted, and the cart began to move. “How did you hear that?” Lucy’s brows knitted. He was disquieted.
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