Either she had been seen, or they were seeking the air. She remained for a few moments standing as though listening to his retreating footsteps. A new inexplicable madness that urged him to shrill ironically the story of his coat—to take it off and fling it at the feet of any stranger who chanced to be nigh. “Oh my God, what if she’s dead?” More giggling. Disengaging his right arm, Jonathan struck his victim a tremendous blow on the head with the bludgeon, that fractured his skull; and, exerting all his strength, threw him over the rails, to which he clung with the tenacity of despair. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad.
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