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. ‘But that is easy. He could not move; but stood like one stupified, with his hands clasped together, and eyes almost starting out of their sockets, fixed upon his unfortunate parent. On the floor, underneath the sixth row desks, was an ashtray with a small black dot of blood on its blunt round corner. "You've given me more than the amount, Sir Rowland," he said, after he had twice counted them, "or I've missed my reckoning. I am not come here to play the part of your father-confessor.
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