He continued thoughtfully. At length the manager arrived; and together he and Ruth succeeded in getting some of the aromatic spirits of ammonia down the patient's throat. 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. At length the task was done, and she jabbed the needle into a cushion, folded the coat, and rose. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied.
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