" "Nothing else?" "No. 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. "Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this. It belonged to his father, and was worn by him on the night he was murdered. Solomon Smith, chapmen, (or what in modern vulgar parlance would be termed bagmen) travelling to procure orders for the house of an eminent cloth manufacturer in Manchester. But it was very hard to follow. She dare not risk it.
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