The spinsters had purchased one grass-linen tablecloth; the girl and the young man had purchased nothing. 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. Sections and pages had been pasted together, and all through both Testaments a word had been blotted out. So here is your chance, Mademoiselle Charvill. I mean—I mean to do what I can. But I see now. As his death was by no means what Jonathan desired, he resolved to remove him to a more airy ward, and afford him such slight comforts as might tend to his restoration, or at least keep him alive until the period of execution. The Tigress went prowling for nut, too.
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