“I want to ask you a question,” she said abruptly. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our hostess. She thought of Capes. They all stay!” “And you yourself?” Brendon laughed. 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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