While he was thus standing, the flames of his house, which made the whole street as light as day, and ruddily illumined the faces of the mob below, betrayed him to them, and he was speedily driven from his position by a shower of stones and other missiles. "Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by U. Bitte!.
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