" "You paint yourself worse than you are, dear Mrs. 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. ” She went on, with a desperate attempt to be easy and colloquial: “You see, we were rather good friends, I thought, and now perhaps it will be difficult for us to get back to the old friendly footing. Nor my grandfathers both. On taxing his recollection, the whole circumstance rushed to mind with painful distinctness. Perhaps you'll call that charity: I call it defeating the ends of justice.
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