I keep my finger on the pulse of things. ’ Gerald laughed and clapped him on the back. Come and see him, Lucia. 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. “No, I am alone,” she answered. All the same, I don’t admit it.
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