But one must disguise oneself. Even now, my problems begin to catch up with me; they will discover me soon. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. You went even to our rooms and saw my sister. I’m not Gerald, remember. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying.
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