Instead of which they walked sharply. "Stow it, Nab!" exclaimed Quilt, angrily; "the kinchen's awake. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. 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.
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