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. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. ” “I began to be afraid you might not come at all. Red velvet curtains rustled under dim lights as the door shut with a heavy snap. There was no mistaking his intentions this time. It is bad policy.
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