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. Marvel was almost dislodged from his seat on the coffin by a dead dog, which was hurled against him, and struck him in the face. "I guessed what was coming. Afterwards we started for déjeuner in a motor.
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