This time he couldn't get far. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. Spurling, hastening to the rescue. Not entirely. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. The passage was so narrow that there was only sufficient room for the cart to pass, with a single line of foot-soldiers on one side; and, as the walls of the bridge were covered with spectators, it was not deemed prudent to cross it till these persons were dislodged. She trembled; but she did not know why.
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