‘So yours is the rattling tongue, is it, young madam?’ ‘I should say so. She shuddered; the room was unfamiliar and unwelcoming. 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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