"Give me your hand, Poll, to help me through," cried Jack, as he accomplished the operation. Madame Valade was that kind of woman. . He was vaguely uneasy; he knew not what about. 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. . " At the time of his present introduction, his play of "The Captives," had just been produced at Drury Lane, and he was meditating his "Fables," which were published two years afterwards. ’ ‘Gad, there is someone there,’ exclaimed Hilary beside him, shading his eyes with one hand.
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