He fancied that the whole fabric of the bridge was cracking over head,—that the arch was tumbling upon him,—that the torrent was swelling around him, whirling him off, and about to bury him in the deafening abyss. Every window, from the groundfloor to the garret had its occupant, and the roofs were covered with spectators. If Gerald knew, what should stop Gosse from finding out? Perhaps he was even now at the lawyer. Home!— which I never hoped to see again.
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