The door crashed back against the wall inside and both men hurtled into the room, weapons at the ready—and stopped dead. 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. " "Don't touch it, Winny!" screamed Mrs. "I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall.
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