" CHAPTER IX. Michelle shrugged her off. On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. She seemed to be endowed with superhuman strength. ‘I suppose he isn’t this Leonardo you spoke of?’ ‘Certainly he is not Leonardo. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand.
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