’ Gerald came into the room as he spoke, his eyes on the stormclouds rapidly gathering in Melusine’s face. She twisted to meet him and folded into his embrace. 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.
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