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. Oh God! my limbs fail me. ‘We’ll have you right out of the way, just in case. But his grief was of short duration. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. He told her something about music, the great world outside. He’ll never ask because I’m not in with those people, you know? Well, I guess John Diedermayer might have some connection, but, I certainly don’t.
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