"We have him!" cried Jonathan, hurrying down the steps. Not a moment is to be lost. Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. The folds of a thick muslin neckcloth in some degree protected him, but the gash was desperate. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass.
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