" "So I perceive," replied Wood. Don’t say anything, she thought to herself, say nothing more, Martin. He leaned forward to better drink her in. 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. Blueskin, however, was not unattended. And, while the turnkey was busy with the keys, she whispered to the black, "Follow him, Caliban.
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