He occupied one of the smaller houses near the station. 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. “Anna!” she repeated. Further on, there was a small chandler's shop, where Jack observed an old woman seated at the counter, attended by a little girl. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. On the day he carried the manuscript to Copeley's he brought back a packet of letters, magazines, and newspapers. They embarked upon an open and declared friendship.
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