” “You like me?” “Yes. 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. Wood, contemptuously. You told me he was going back to Newgate after supper, so I mayn't have another opportunity.
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