“Yes, I have heard of him, and I know him by sight,” he admitted. 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. And they admired Kent sedulously from the windows. These convulsions occurred when Ann Veronica was about twelve.
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