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The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time. Moreoever, it had cost her a whipping and several days’ imprisonment in her cell on bread and water. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. "I am here, you see," said the smith. But there was a face pressed to the glass. She had but to choose.
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