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. And then, there would be the question of money. It is we who have become the parasites and toys. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. But Michelle’s heart seemed to grow fonder to the subject proportionally to Lucy’s avoidance of it.
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