While I am talking about your friends, I feel—I think you ought to know how I look at it. "He is," returned Quilt, significantly. The storm appeared to have blown over, for they were conversing in a very amicable manner with Mr. 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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