On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. Both started. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. Jonathan shook his head. He trembled, not from any superstitious dread, but from an undefined sense of approaching danger. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion.
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