“But how can you?” asked Constance. I wouldn’t even have to use very much gasoline. They looked out over the city, grim and silent now, for it was long past midnight. Neither of them believed me. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood.
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