Smith's melody had subsided. 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. ” She replied. Nevertheless, she was still fighting. I thought it better not to send him away till I'd mentioned the circumstance to you. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer.
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