She too at once developed an anxious interest in the street outside. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. Its walled heaved with black mildew and sea-salt. In the meanwhile, as he talked, he scrutinized her face, ran his eyes over her careless, gracious poise, wondered hard about her. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. "It's the skull of a rebel," said Jonathan, with marked emphasis on the word, "blown by the wind from a spike on the bridge above us.
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