Lose no time. “Sheila and Mark McCloskey?” Michelle asked. “I don’t see why I should take it secondhand. We may be all murdered in this unprotected place, and nobody be the wiser. 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. “Really,” she said. Remember that.
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