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. " "Thieves!" exclaimed Mrs. “She’s all right. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. ” Annabel shook her head.
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