’ ‘Yes, I’m sorry about that,’ Gerald uttered in a rueful tone. "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. At half after five that afternoon the doctor and his friend McClintock entered the office of the Victoria. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before.
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