On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. She stood, as it were, directed doorward, with her eyes watching every movement, listening to him, repelled by him and yet dimly understanding. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. Babies and females have got to keep hold of somebody or go under—anyhow, for the next few generations. The aunt laughed.
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