Sheppard. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. He moaned. "Give it me," returned the carpenter; "all's safe. It had been cut down before life was extinct, but a ball from one of the soldiers had pierced his heart. I haven’t, anyhow. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars.
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