When the prisoner was removed from the dock, we met Jonathan as we passed through the yard. “We were afraid that you had deserted us for good, Mr. "No, I tell you," rejoined Jonathan, shouldering his way out of the crowd. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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