"I have killed her," cried Jack. “MY DEAR FATHER,” she wrote,—“I have been thinking hard about everything since I was sent to this prison. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. To-morrow night —or rather to-night, for we are fast verging on another day—I propose to lure him out of the house by a stratagem which I am sure will prove infallible; and, then, what so easy as to knock him on the head. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Things happen out this way.
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