The loneliness of the place somewhat depressed her. Sir John was not used to such glances, and he liked them. 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. " "You talk boldly," replied Wild. His demeanour then was sober enough to lend colour to that belief.
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