They’re fairly intricate little things. And don’t talk until we’re well out of earshot. " "Devil!" muttered Jack, again grasping his pistol. 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. I barely prevailed sometimes, but in the end, my wits were faster than their steel.
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