‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. Was it ruined?’ ‘But yes, it was entirely ruined. 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. He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile.
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