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On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. In truth, she would quite like to have him rescue her. Later in the evening she heard him whistling, poor man! She felt very restless and excited. Sheppard. I’ve wanted you—always.
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