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. I couldn’t rest or eat or sleep. ‘He can’t be Valade, that’s certain,’ mused Gerald, unheeding. "I have something further to tell you," pursued Winifred. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. She had come across the wicked South Seas which were still infested with cannibals; she had seen drunkenness and called men beachcombers; who was this moment as innocent as a babe, and in the next uttered some bitter wisdom it had taken a thousand years of philosophy to evolve. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered.
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