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. In each corner stood a stout square post reaching to the ceiling. Cathy commented, “You look very nice, Lucy. "By my soul," said the sexton, "that's as like Jack Sheppard as any one I ever seed i' my born days. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it.
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