Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement. 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. That would come later. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this. “Miss Ellicot!” Brendon echoed. Mrs.
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