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. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. “I think that I shall be the most unpopular man in London. “Ohmigod! You totally sounded like my grandmother just now!” Michelle exclaimed. He had chosen his time well. ‘I am sorry to hear of your misfortunes. ‘We’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. But for him——” Something in her sister’s tone startled Anna.
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