We're all with ye. At that th' poor, deluded loon tackled it again; an' th' crowd yells: 'Hist it up. There ye go. No, be hivins he fell at th' last jump. An', by dad, though he thried f'r half an hour, he cud not land th' 'shall fade fr'm me heart. At th' last break th' light in Molly Donahue's window wint out, an' th' crowd dispersed. Felix was discons'late.