“She’s going to have some sort of meal with the Widgetts down the Avenue, and go up with them. 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. " "What the devil's in the wind now, Captain?" cried Blueskin, in astonishment. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave.
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