Then, even as they stood there, the room was plunged into darkness. 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. “Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. " "Nay, if you're bent upon this folly," observed Wild, who appeared to have his own reasons for humouring the lad, "I shan't hinder you.
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