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. “What are you doing here? How dare you come to my rooms!” The man stepped into the middle of the room. Wild had a narrow escape lately, in that affair of Captain Darrell," observed Shotbolt. What’s your name?” He asked in return.
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