But once I started, Forever Fifteen seemed to fly out of me like a bat out of Hell, virtually writing itself. The three young men exchanged expressive glances. 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. "Good bye!" cried Jack, as if taking leave of his mistresses, "to-morrow, at the same time.
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