"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. Miss Garvice repeated again, and almost in the same words she used at every discussion, her contribution to the great question. She glanced at him and made a dismissive gesture. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. " "We'll see that, young hempseed," replied Sharples, shutting the hatch furiously in his face, and locking it.
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