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He never said hello, as if it had become a personal taboo for him. It dawned upon him that he had been abominably used by Ann Veronica. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. 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. No offence, I hope.
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