Earles drew out his cheque book. 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. The baby boy was delivered in a sea of black blood, born dead and blue, and strangled by plague. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated—that I directed those measures. "I am.
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