She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. The sidewalk resonated with the pounding of cold rain by the time she left the building. The latter were saved; but of the former nothing but the blackened stone walls were found standing on the morrow. It's exactly like a miniature I have in my pocket.
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