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. So was I, in fact. But it was almost choked up with fallen stacks of chimneys, broken beams of timber, and shattered tiles. She bolted awake in the large bed which was awash in a sea of silks, furs, and red curtains.
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