I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. 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. Well, I was all for dragging in Bow Street there and then, and getting the pair of those fraudsters thrown in gaol. I thought he was in Newgate.
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