‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us. All that confidence, born of irony, disappeared; and fear laid hold of him. . ’ He laughed. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin.
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