“You see the pointer?” he asked. She shuddered, adding confidentially, ‘You wouldn’t get me in there now, mind. She gasped with pain, but she did not release her grip. 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.
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