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. The next moment, a struggle was heard, and Blueskin appeared at the door, followed by Mrs. I shall borrow it and apply it to you, Hilary.
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