Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. There’d only be endless rows if I was at home. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. He would condemn her to the vengeance of the mob all for refusing to marry him. When he returned, it was always the same. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. "I don't think he would leave me, even if I could part with him," observed Mrs.
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