"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. Kneebone, who began to feel sleepy, wound it up, and snuffed the candles. "Ah! but," said I, "there's a great deal in being hanged. Their colloquy was ended abruptly by the apparition of Miss Klegg at the further door. Jonathan's wicked threat is fulfilled at last. She took refuge in beating her pillow and inventing insulting epithets for herself.
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