CHAPTER LVIII.
Papel y tinta y poco justicia.
The court room was packed on the morning on which the verdict of the jury was expected, as it had been every day of the trial, and by the same spectators, who had followed its progress with such intense interest.
There is a delicious moment of excitement which the frequenter of trials well knows, and which he would not miss for the world. It is that instant when the foreman of the jury stands up to give the verdict, and before he has opened his fateful lips.
The court assembled and waited. It was an obstinate jury. It even had another question—this intelligent jury—to ask the judge this morning.
The question was this:—"Were the doctors clear that the deceased had no disease which might soon have carried him off, if he had not been shot?" There was evidently one juryman who didn't want to waste life, and was willing to strike
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