On reaching the churchyard, he perceived the melancholy procession descending the hill. He flung himself backwards, hit the dais and fell heavily before the altar, losing his low-crowned beaver. "A great deal!" replied Thames. And this is not France, you understand. A single false step might have precipitated him into the street; or, if he had trodden upon an unsound part of the roof, he must have fallen through it.
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