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. ’ Gerald raised his brows. “How can you change people’s ideas if you have no power?” said Kitty Brett. "Search him and iron him afresh;" commanded Jonathan. Charcoal, you may bring in the boy.
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