But, when? When do they go?’ ‘Today, miss. Take that box, and put it into the carriage yourself. 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. ’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence.
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