Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. She had never before heard the noise of firecrackers, and in the beginning the sputtering racket caused her to wince. The will to live had returned. But he had scarcely advanced a step, when he was felled to the ground by a blow from the powerful arm of Kneebone, who, instantly possessing himself of a pistol, levelled it at Jackson's head. My father died a year ago, by the way. She struggled not to be afraid. This laugh and his looks alarmed her. She had, poor inexperienced fool, given herself away.
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