It was the gallows. It reverberated in the silence. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. "Of course," rejoined the bystander, who had just spoken, and who was of a cynical turn,—"the greater the rascal, the better they like him. "I wanted you to know. I had nosebleeds that day and I got halfway up the rope before I fell off.
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