In the midst of them there was a cart with a man in it—and that man was Jack—my son Jack—they were going to hang him. “Much as I hate rows, I’ve either got to make a stand or give in altogether. I owed his father a grudge: that I settled long ago. Yet he’s been here for six years, and he’s as much a fixture as that sham mahogany sideboard. You won’t have a man’s lips near you, but you’ll eat out of his hand fast enough. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. Spurlock had better stick to the bungalow. She shivered, more due to his presence than the changing weather. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would have met with a fair reception. She was caught by some of the bystanders, who offered by her every assistance in their power.
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