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. Shot him, do you hear?” “Good God!” he exclaimed, looking at her curiously. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. At last he could bear it no longer. "Now, let's see who'll dare to take him down," she cried.
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