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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. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. I would have married her long ago, but she will not have me. “No, don’t interrupt me.
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