" "Odd's me! do you think so?" cried the host of the Trumpeter. She laid her hand upon his arm. When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison.
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