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She stood 218 there, broken bottle still in hand. I did not reckon upon—him. I'll try a strong dose. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. It was warm, shielding, comforting, and what was more, full of understanding.
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