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Grave of Andres(2 / 6)

ained lost in his own contemplation, unaffected by the crowd, and did not search for her figure among them.

"Bloodsuckers! Go straight to hell!" Several voices from the crowd bellowed at the tumbrel carrying Quenet and the others.

Suddenly, a woman dressed as a bourgeoisie emerged from the crowd, disregarding anyone hindering her, and tightly grabbed onto the edge of the tumbrel, spitting towards Andre.

Her spittle landed on the torn edge of his collar as he peered down at the assailant, his face displaying a compassionate expression.

The woman, still seething with anger, continued to point at Quenet''s nose and curse, "Pah! Terrorist! Give my son back to me!"

The carts came to a halt for several minutes before slowly resuming their journey towards the the place of execution.

As they passed through the next street, a bucket of foul blood was emptied from a third-floor window, drenching those below, accompanied by laughter and mocking shouts,

"Here''s the blood you want, scoundrels! You must be thirsty!"

The people on the tumbrel made no attempt to evade the deluge. The two commissioners at the rear end were almost entirely soaked in blood, presenting a both comical and horrible appearance. Quenet''s white shirt was only sprinkled with scattered droplets. He calmly lowered his head.

One of the members of Paris Commune, his face stern like bronze, glared angrily at the onlookers, filled with a helpless indignation at the betrayal he had endured.

Even if they were facing the most ferocious of beasts, these eyes of a brave would never avert their gaze. However, what they beheld was only disdainful expressions and wicked smiles, so a single murky teardrop rolled down his cheeks.

An assistant prosecutor from the Revolutionary Tribunal, with a blood-soaked bandage suspending his injured arm, clenched his fists so tightly that his fingernails dug into his palms, and his jaw trembled unc

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