not there be our misfortune what. Quickly interrupts romescos, whats that. The property minister, thus circumstanced, must not show belligerent feelings. Romescos simply, but very skilfully, draws his club measures him an unamiable blow on the head, fells him to the ground. The poor wretch struggles a few moments, raises his manacled hands to his face as his wife falls weeping upon his shuddering body. She supplicates mercy at the hands of the ruffianthe ruffian torturer. Quietly, masr my man ill go wid me, says the woman, interposing her hand