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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. Gerald shook his head. “Odd thing,” Meddoes remarked, “we were just talking about the Pellissier girl. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake.
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