"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. I would that you were my own. "And now to dispose of our dead. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. ‘Certainly you may have me under guard. "Coward!" cried Kneebone.
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