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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. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. " "I imagine I've been in a kind of trance.
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