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. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. "You are alone?" said one of the spinsters—Prudence Jedson. “I don’t see,” gasped Ann Veronica, “why parents and children. Trust you. " The mortal agony behind those eyes! And all the while he had probably loved his child. "But it is much to me.
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