Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered. 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. “What do you think of them?” Anna extended her critical survey and shrugged her shoulders. Hastily ascending these steps, Jack found the door, as he anticipated, locked. ’ ‘Oh, she’ll be safe enough, Gerald. .
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