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. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. In the little apartment, under the gas chandelier, his inches and his stoop were certainly very effective. It was impulsive and natural. For an instant, Gerald wished the rest of the world away that he might go to her and administer appropriate comfort.
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