She felt herself shaking again. We looked upon you, my dear Sir John, with reverence, almost with awe. He had reacted by pushing her away, disgust and frustration on his face. 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've spoken. You—It’s jolly of you to confide in me. She heard him come in; the light burned on.
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