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Show anointed," gnashed an aged, hardened matron who was draped in a colorless shawl. Someone from the crowd threw a hard mud ball in Leighton's face. His sweat mingled with the dirt added to the humiliation he endured. Despite the mudball, there was a certain majesty about a man who would risk speaking boldly when totally at the mercy of his tormentors. The lash was suddenly still, but the work of torture was not ended. Leighton's eyes, in spite of his bravery, burned brightly with pain. Those burning eyes now searched the crowd. They rested on the man John Lathrop, a stranger to Leighton. Lathrop's intensity of spirit reached out to the man unashamedly. Lathrop did not remove his gaze. Leighton returned the same intensity of spirit to Lathrop and in a voice barely audible, Lathrop heard him say, "Thank God for angels." Close to the pillory, a branding iron lay ready, glowing from the hot coals wherein it rested. The executioner, having pronounced Alexander Leighton to be a Sower of Sedition, grabbed him by the hair, raised his head, and exposed his forehead. The child who had spoken earlier started to cry at the sound of the flesh being seared. Within seconds, |