Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. "Thames Darrell once destroyed," pursued Jonathan. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. "I did see them on the platform of the bridge—the child and his preserver! They were not struck by the fallen ruin, nor whelmed in the roaring flood,—or, if they were, they escaped as I escaped. “Who?” She asked. It's my way when I'm ruffled.
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