I. 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. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. Wood was an old friend of mine—and I recollect seeing Jack when he was bound 'prentice to him. I think you are hard. You keep on coming truer, after you have seemed to come altogether true. But I can tell you who'll have the pleasure of hanging your father's son; and that's a person not a hundred miles distant from you at this moment—ha! ha!" As he said this, the door was opened, and Charcam entered, accompanied by a dwarfish, shabby-looking man, in a brown serge frock, with coarse Jewish features, and a long red beard. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua. The spinster saw herself growing warm again in the morning sunshine of youth —a flaring ember before the hearth grew cold.
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