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. And then she came out into the street, sure only of one thing—that she could not return directly to her lodgings. Nothing seemed to be amiss. "It is the fiend!" she exclaimed, recoiling.
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