" "Never to return," remarked Jack, gloomily. We were talking about the suffrage—and I rather scoffed. 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. " Some order. "Who are you?" inquired Mrs. .
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