" "Thank'ee,—thank'ee. Ramage. " "I will be there," answered Trenchard, gloomily. Her thoughts took words for themselves. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. 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. She fell asleep instantaneously, fatigued from weeks of exhaustion.
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