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. Melusine jumped up, turning swiftly. “Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. Sheppard, anxiously. “It is strange that we should have met Annabel,” she said. But how far could he fly on a few hundred? True, he might find a job somewhere; but every footstep from behind…! "Who is she? Where does she come from?" "You mean Miss Enschede?" "Yes.
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