"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. It had been her home for hundreds of years. The aunt rushed over to her nephew, knelt and wrapped him in her arms. ’ ‘Did no one know, then?’ ‘No, for the vicomte, we learned later, wrote to General Lord Charvill in pursuit of his sister. He had deliberately saved it for last.
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