"Let us fly from this frightful place. You’re a good friend. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. The tears were streaming down her face, her voice was thick with sobs. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying.
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