” “I believe you,” she murmured. The same look she had often seen in the eyes of the drunken beachcombers her father had brought home, and it had not filled her with horror. That it provided proof of the girl’s identity was one thing. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance.
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