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. She felt herself getting into a corner. It would not be possible otherwise to live in daily contact with this level-eyed, lovely girl without loving her. ’ ‘It’s too late for that,’ Gerald told her evenly. She had lost her sense of direction, and was among unfamiliar streets.
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