She packed her backpack with a change of clothes, some rags, and her old length of piano wire. "Here, Poll, help me!" Thus exhorted, Mrs. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. " And, having partaken of a hasty breakfast, he set out. Jack's body was caught, and passed from hand to hand over a thousand heads, till it was far from the fatal tree. She felt she had to go on.
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