She felt she must fly before it and could no longer do so. Then to Martin's brandy-shop, in Fleet Street. 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. She rose and attacked Lucy, kicking her with the grafted leg that was too big for her body.
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