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. "This suspense is worse than torture. See paragraph 1. “Get me some brandy and my bag. You steered and I rowed stroke. He opened his eyes, protestingly, and beheld the realization of his dream. "Thank you, sir," said Spurlock, holding out his hand.
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