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"Now, Jack," cried Thames, warmly grasping Sheppard's hand, "you are my friend again. The tears flowed faster. “But you’re wrong. 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. She should leave sooner, but she just could not bear missing the event. ’ ‘You mean Valade? Certainly not.
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