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. Take it, I tell you. They confronted each other, barely feet apart, neither apparently any longer aware of anyone else in the room. “Lucy, you. " Sheppard immediately complied with the painter's request; while Gay and Figg drew back on one side, and Hogarth on the other.
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