"I declare you throw me into an ague. So he decided to stay. ‘Lucky I have you to keep me from Bedlam, then. ” “I couldn’t do that,” said Ann Veronica, sharply. 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. Come along, my Newgate bird!" he continued, shaking him with great violence. He was a little impressed by Ann Veronica’s metaphor of the string, which, indeed, she owed to Hetty Widgett.
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