His complexion was as blue as a sailor's jacket, and though Mr. They'll be back soon enough—or not at all. ‘You wish a reason for jealousy? Eh bien, you may have it. I have done from the first moment I saw you. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own. 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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