He turned, expecting to see his wife. 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. Ah! I shall never forget the figure Jack cut on that occasion. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling.
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