Never mind, I’ve got plenty. " There was a pause. ‘As for you—’ ‘Do not address me. And mind he doesn't stir out of your sight, on any pretence whatever, till I call. 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.
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