"Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. A great bowl of scarlet carnations gleamed from a dark corner, set against the background of a deep brown wall. 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.
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