“That‘s a real brainwave， Pole，” said Scrubb. “It must be hat. Come on.”
So they turned and went to the bridge. And when they eached it， it certainly seemed solid enough. The single ones were as big as those at Stonehenge and must have een squared by good masons once， though now they were racked and crumbled. The balustrade had apparently been overed with rich carvings， of which some traces remained； ouldering faces and forms of giants， minotaurs， squids， entipedes， and dreadful gods. Puddleglum still didn’t trust， but he consented to cross it with the children.
The climb up to the crown of the arch was long and heavy. n many places the great stones had dropped out， leaving orrible gaps through which you looked down on the river oaming thousands of feet below. They saw an eagle fly hrough under their feet. And the higher they went， the older it grew， and the wind blew so that they could hardly eep their footing. It seemed to shake the bridge.