Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. 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. " "A child!" thought Wood; it must be the fugitive Darrell. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully.
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