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. " "I don't wonder at it," rejoined Gay. " "On the contrary, if that is a specimen, they must be poets. ” “Every one hasn’t the Gift. And now she was witnessing or observing the complicated machinery of civilization through which they had come, at length to land on the beach of her island. Other phrases returned now, like echoes. A dark mass of wreckage, over which hung a slight mist of vapour, lay half in the ditch, half across the hedge, close under a tree from the trunk of which the bark had been torn and stripped.
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