It's sixteen days down, with The Tigress. The times were such that, with the opinions he entertained, he could not remain idle. I mean my cut-offs and boots. 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.
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