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. ‘But so also it is downstairs. ” He referred to a sheet of paper by his side. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living.
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