"
"I did not ask for any," said John Barton, in a low voice.
"Ask, or not ask, what care I? You shall be hanged--hanged--man!"
said he, advancing his face, and repeating the word with slow,
grinding emphasis, as if to infuse some of the bitterness of his
soul into it.
John Barton gasped, but not with fear. It was only that he felt it
terrible to have inspired such hatred, as was concentrated into
every word, every gesture of Mr. Carson's.
"As for being hanged, sir, I know it's all right and proper. I dare
say it's bad enough; but I tell you what, sir," speaking with an
outburst, "if you'd hanged me the day after I'd done the deed, I
would have gone down on my knees and blessed you. Death! Lord,
what is it to Life? To such a life as I've been leading this
fortnight past. Life at best is no great thing; but such a life as
I have dragged through since that night," he shuddered at the
thought. "Why, sir, I've been on the point of killing myself this
many a time to get away from my own thoughts. I didn't! and I'll
tell you why.
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