Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. "I guessed what was coming. Do they, Bess?" "Certainly not," replied the young lady appealed to, "especially about their sons. The jailers robbed the prisoners: the prisoners robbed one another. 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.
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