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A male voice, vibrant with terror, yelled out hoarsely. “I do not wish to use this. . 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. Then he sat down and filled his pipe slowly and thoughtfully. I sha'n't cry any more. “Annabel;” he moaned. Additional terms will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
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