The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. She did not see the metal pole swing toward the back of her skull, nor did she feel her own blood spoiling her light hair after the dull crack of metal broke her flesh. There he sat as before, with the heavy fetters on his limbs, and beside him sat his three companions, who had since expiated their offences on the gibbet. Wood, leaping from the bed. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. ‘Of course it is,’ corroborated Hilary.
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