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. "On my return, I found the window open, and the room vacant. Let’s go on climbing now. They had cried a little, both. If you had arrived ten minutes later, or if there hadn't been an iron bar in the chimney, that hindered my progress, I should have been beyond your reach. ” It was her last evening in that wrappered life against which she had rebelled.
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