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. ‘But it is entirely myself,’ she exclaimed aloud. Had Valade been to see him? Possibly even yesterday when he was followed by some young lad—and the girl, of course. To his relief, she nodded. But at least it gave her more time.
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