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. To-night all this may seem hard and cruel. Indeed, it is rather a matter of whose death is close. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. "Where did you pick it up?" "I believe I told you; at Yale.
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