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 came to London to look for you, and somehow the figure I saw in my dreams had got mixed up with you. "Wretch!" cried Jack. Stanley, and paused. A militiaman came belting down the stairs, another leapt from outside the front door, and a third, stalwart and stolid, came in through the door that led to the rooms to the front of the house. He replied, \"Want to go sit down somewhere?\" \"Sure.
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