I don’t love you. God bless you, Auntie! I'll go into the mills and make pulp with my bare hands, if you want me to. And how comes his cloak on this knave's shoulders?" "It is his cloak, of a surety," returned Rowland "Harkye, sirrah," continued he, haughtily interrogating Wood; "where is the person from whom you received this mantle?" "Throttling a man isn't the way to make him answer questions," replied the carpenter, doggedly. As he was conveyed thither, an incident occurred that produced a considerable impression on the feelings of the youthful offender.
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