She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. In truth, she had been quite glad to lose the argument about remaining while the bullet was dug out of Jack’s side. The original passage, Martha had told her, had led only from an upstairs room to one downstairs. She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. " Thus urged, the damsels began to raise their voices in loud lamentation. “There’s the whole situation.
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