“I think this ends the business,” he said, turning to his sister. Some one was standing beside him. Your career at the bar had given you a command of language, also a self-control not vouchsafed to us ordinary mortals. 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. I’ve made an ally of her champion.
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