With a loud shout, and headed by a powerfully-built man, with a face as black as that of a mulatto, and armed with a cutlass, the rabble leapt over the barricades, and rushed towards the vehicle. It was as if he could smell it on her. My sister was scarcely likely to make a mistake. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. But what did the occupant of the box care? The laugh was always with the dead: they were out of the muddle.
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