" "Why, what the devil's this?" vociferated Jonathan, looking up. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. 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. " "It has done me a whole lot of good to meet you.
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