He arrived at 6:29 sharp on the night of the Junior Prom. 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. He ran back to his car, glancing only once at the man in the car. ‘It must be painful.
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