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. . Gerald watched her vanish into the darkness, unusually incensed. She frowned and gripped her hands about her knees very tightly. "Raise your vice, and lave off coughin'," added Terence. “It’s no sort of good, Ann Veronica, pretending one does believe when one doesn’t. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. “She wasn’t sane, my wife.
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