"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. ’ ‘Damnation!’ Gerald burst out, crossing towards her. It was late before Jonathan ventured to his own house, where he remained up all night, and kept his janizaries and other assistants well armed. "I suppose it didn't drop through the ceiling, did it? Are you quite sure it's flesh and blood?" asked he, playfully pinching its arm till it cried out with pain.
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