While the watermen were contending with the eddies occasioned by the fall below the bridge, Jonathan observed a perceptible shudder run through Trenchard's frame. "This gash," he added, pointing to one of the larger scars, "was a wipe from the hanger of Tom Thurland, whom I apprehended for the murder of Mrs. No fear o' that. ‘Desist, you little devil,’ he growled in her ear. ” The tall young man dropped his eye-glass and smiled. The boy she had loved was gone.
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