His frame was wasted, and slightly bent; his eyes were hollow, his complexion haggard, and his beard, which had remained unshorn during his hasty journey, was perfectly white. He beheld a tall gaunt man, his brown face corrugated like a winter's road, grim, stony. "I have killed her," cried Jack. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. Professing to stand between the robber and the robbed, he himself plundered both. I do not wish that the soldiers there will see it shine.
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