"Mr. ” Hill looked up at him, an unkempt, rough-looking object, with broken collar, tumbled hair, and the blood slowly dripping from his face. He urged his conductors to a quicker pace to get out of sight of the distressing spectacle, and even felt relieved when he was shut out from it and the execrations of the mob by the walls of the little prison. Sheppard. Better come another morning. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop.
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