‘French? But what else?’ ‘I do not like Frenchmen,’ Melusine snapped. Ennison started and looked anxiously at Anna. I said to myself at once, ‘Either this is a coincidence or the caper sauce. 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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