" Spurlock smiled at the doctor. Unless there was some real metal in the young fool, some hidden strength with which to breast the current, Ruth would become a millstone around his neck and soon he would become to her an object of pity and contempt. " "I'm sorry. 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. Gag him," he added, pushing Thames rudely toward Quilt Arnold, "and convey him to the boat. This is my last week at the ‘Unusual,’ you know.
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