"Not a moment is to be lost," whispered Jonathan to Trenchard. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. " "That's well!" cried Jack. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. " The doctor was in the middle fifties, gray and careworn, but with alert blue eyes and a gentle mouth. "It's a miserable weakness to be afraid of bloodshed. " CHAPTER XIV.
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