” “So much the better,” Anna declared cheerfully. ” “I’ll wait, then. "It is not too late to repair the wrong I have done my nephew," cried Trenchard. 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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