He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. 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. The tears were welling over now, but her voice was steady. Men do not understand constancy as women do. He looked like an animated skeleton that someone had hung a smelly 105 brown beard upon.
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