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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. ‘I’ll make it, miss. This started a thought moving. Some one was standing beside him. Wood?" "With pleasure," replied the woollen-draper. ’ ‘I’m coming to that.
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