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I see they had the king and the duke astraddle of a rail- that is, I knowed it was the king and the duke, though they was all over tar and feathers, and didn't look like nothing in the world that was human- just looked like a couple of monstrous big soldier-plumes. Well, it made me sick to see it; and I was sorry for them poor pitiful rascals, it seemed like I couldn't ever feel any hardness against them any more in the world. It was a dreadful thing to see. Human beings can be awful cruel to one another.

What metaphor is Twain emphasizing in the above scene from Chapter 33?


Con men as chickens.


Mob as monsters.


Con men as hobos.


A mob as an army.


A mob as living cruelty.

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