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. She would meet him upon this ground: he should never be given the slightest hint that she was unhappy. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world.
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