It is positively hateful to think of it. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. Bodies were piled high in the streets, Sebastian went on rounds and would come back late at night, reporting horrors and robberies, death that came within hours, not days.
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