” She pulled a small blue box out of the pocket of her hoodie. No more. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. “Now I suppose Brendon understands exactly what you mean,” he remarked. 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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