Another door was next opened, and, preceded by the ordinary, with the sacred volume in his hand, the prisoner entered the room. He saw his father, calling to him from an icy white tunnel, beckoning to him. She lingered over donning her winter coat, buttoning each toggle and placket, double knotting her long scarf. A ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. ’ Still no response.
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