She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. "Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. Anna went out. ‘Do you think I do not know? If this pig has not done so, there would be no need for me to do it. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. Mr.
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