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. " "Hold your tongue!" cried Mrs. His foot touched the rounded edge of the starling, and glanced off, precipitating him into the water. A tinge of admiration rose in his breast. "I am no murderer," replied Sheppard.
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