There was no broken faith—not even any question of anything of the sort. 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. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that.
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