“You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. " At this moment, Saint Sepulchre's clock struck six. She stared at his pleading face. Ann Veronica found herself in a little stirring crowd of excited women, whispering and tittering and speaking in undertones. "I thought it best that you should imagine him. And then, “They seem changed. 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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