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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. "And now," he continued, sternly, "was it your master who has just ridden by?" "No," answered Quilt, sullenly. " "Jonathan Wild was my husband's bitterest enemy," said Mrs.
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