" "I hope you never may, my love," humbly acquiesced the carpenter. Giles's bowl, "as his last refreshment on earth. He would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya. 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. ’ ‘How do I know that?’ demanded Jack.
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