At this juncture, a cry was raised by a servant from below, that the robbers were flying through the garden. She was pensive and thoughtful. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. An audible crack sounded in the kitchen and Mark slumped backwards, unconscious.
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