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Three-quarters of an hour later, the inhabitants of the Cross-Roads,

saved, they knew not how; guilty; knowing nothing of the fantastic

pendulu by the events of the day, had uilt, now on others, now on theees, conscious of atrocity, duonecorners, while the skeleton of the rotting buggy in the

slough rose behind theainst the face of the west They peered with

stupified eyes through the s, came mournfully to their ears the

many-voiced refrain--fainter, fainter:

"John Brown's body lies a-round,

John Brown's body lies a-round

John Brown's body lies--o marchon"