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. “Annabel?” he exclaimed. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Whether the turnkey entertained any suspicion of the old man, Jack could not tell, but that night he was more than usually rigorous in his search; and having carefully examined the prisoners and finding nothing to excite his suspicions, he departed tolerably satisfied. Sebastian grabbed the infant once again by the chest and it wailed into the air, exposing its rows of shark like teeth. She was slowed down by the icy wind that punctuated itself in screams around houses and trees. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said.
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