While he was straining every sinew, his foot slipped, and he fell, head foremost, into a deep trench, which he had not observed in the dark. His grief was so audible, that it attracted the notice of some of the bystanders, and Thames was obliged to beg him to control it. Probably a sick man's whim. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song.
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