"Well—well," grumbled Jonathan, "I suppose I must be content. I'm safe enough if you hold your tongue. "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 felt too good. My sister made me over, you know. “Well!” she declared good-humouredly. At this moment, Davies, who had completed his preparations, extinguished the torch. The comments on the makeover lessened but were replaced by long admiring glances by boys who had never before given her the time of day.
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