“So it’s like you’re a dead end?” He asked innocently. One day she had thrown all the gifts into the lagoon, and visited the secret nook no more. 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 has never 96 once contacted me. Once over the iron spikes, Bess exhibited no reluctance to be let down on the other side of the wall.
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