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 lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. “I wonder if you give me a thought. ” They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially being more silent than usual. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted.
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