The doctor paced the room half a dozen times. “Not to-night,” she said. The small predator subconsciously acknowledged the larger one. Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. 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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