When night fell, he crept into the town of Tottenham. 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. Spurling, and her now accepted suitor, resumed their seats. ” She played with her hair. But don’t run away with the idea that I’m hanging out for a wife at last, because I’m not.
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