He carried her in his arms up the steps, like a bride on her honeymoon. ’ Jack stepped out, and pushed the door to. His face was a little flushed perhaps, and his small, brown eyes were bright. She could still smell the now familiar scent of him on the girl's body in the makeshift grave. 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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