I kept watch over you, for fear of a surprise on the part of Jonathan. The houses overhung in a frightful manner, and looked as if the next gust would precipitate them into the river. Yet the smoke was curling upwards in a faint innocent-looking cloud to the ceiling. “You were never born,” he declared, “to follow the well worn roads. The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard.
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