She went to a dramatic agent, and he turned out to be the one who had heard me sing in Paris. ‘You didn’t understand it any better than I. “Will he die?” she asked. " Upon which he drew the trigger of the pistol, which, luckily for the individual against whom it was aimed, flashed in the pan. “John,” she declared, “I must eat or die. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that.
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