’ Gerald sat back in his chair, thinking hard. "Don't speak ill of him behind his back, father," interposed Thames. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. She looked about, watching a massive green storm cloud building in the west. 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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