He smiled. 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. There was question in Gerald’s gaze as it met hers, and apology in his voice. The rest she meant to keep for her immediate necessities. "If the best nag ever foaled were to throw me in this unlucky spot, I'd blow his brains out.
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