"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. His mind was filled briefly with psychic images of a charnel house that danced like a spider in his head. 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. "Let him remain," interposed Trenchard.
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