She turned a resolute face southward. Then there was Tom Jarrot, the hackney-coachman, who was pitched off the box against yonder curbstone, and broke his leg. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. She did not see Sebastian turn towards the boy and his family, but every hair on the back of her neck stood up rigidly. ” And she pressed her lips together in white resolution and nodded, and she was manifestly full of that same passion for conflict and selfsacrifice that has given the world martyrs since the beginning of things. But days had now passed.
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