"No, no, let him alone," interposed Wood. She laughed softly, and leaned across the table. Are you doing okay in that shirt? You seem uncomfortable. Peste, where was her handkerchief? She remembered then that it had been lost in the struggle with Gerald. 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.
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