’ ‘Begging your pardon, miss, but I think as how you ought to go back to London,’ Jack ventured. Go in, go in, Melusine prayed, hoping desperately that he would not change his mind and take another route. 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.
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