Very well, I give up. She delighted in frustrating him. 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. No doubt he knew enough of his world to recognise that he stood little chance against the word of a major of militia. 168 < 20 > HISTORY OF AN ABDUCTION She had not seen him for hundreds of years. Prior to the great adventure, her mirrors had been the still pools in the rocks after the ebb.
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