It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. "Has he escaped?" asked the thief-taker, faintly. " "None whatever," replied the mob. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. In lieu of the substantial habitations which he had gazed on overnight, he beheld a row of falling scaffoldings, for such they seemed.
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