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. —Though if my name should become as famous as theirs, it wouldn't much matter. He tried again. 'He's a good fellow, and 'twill all end well'. I tried to have it out with him, but he wouldn’t have it out.
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