. Lost Lenore; or, The adventures of a rolling stone . e had been already noosed around his neck. A man was climbing into the live oak, for the purposeof passing the rope over one of its branches. Stop! I cried, stop for one minute! Let me askthis man a question before he dies. Mr. Leary turned towards me with a stare of surprise;and for the first time, since being brought upon theground, did he appear to take any interest in whatwas passing! i* I am the Boiling Stone, I shouted to him. Tellme, where is my mother? The murderer smiled, and such a smile ! It was thesame fiendish expression he ha
. Lost Lenore; or, The adventures of a rolling stone . e had been already noosed around his neck. A man was climbing into the live oak, for the purposeof passing the rope over one of its branches. Stop! I cried, stop for one minute! Let me askthis man a question before he dies. Mr. Leary turned towards me with a stare of surprise;and for the first time, since being brought upon theground, did he appear to take any interest in whatwas passing! i* I am the Boiling Stone, I shouted to him. Tellme, where is my mother? The murderer smiled, and such a smile ! It was thesame fiendish expression he had thrown at me when Ilast saw him in the boat in Dublin Bay. Tell me where I can find my mother! I againasked, nearly frantic with raore. Of O At this moment the slack end of the lazo that hadbeen passed over the branch and then slung back amongthe crowd, was instantly seized by a hundred hands. Thecondemned man seemed not to notice the movement,while, in answer to my question, the malignant expres».sion upon his features became stronger and Stop! I cried, stop for one minute! 1J4.
Size: 1223px × 2042px
Photo credit: © Reading Room 2020 / Alamy / Afripics
License: Licensed
Model Released: No
Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, booksubjectchildre, bookyear1872
