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. His eyes looked a little bloodshot to her; his face had lost something of its ruddy freshness. The beautiful gowns and the flashing bare shoulders and arms of the women had disturbed and distressed her.
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