Despair engulfed her at the horrid remembrance that the one particular Englishman she knew to be sympathique did not at all wish to marry her. Today you shall promise me that you will pull no more of these stunts. Do you know that this becomes a habit?” “If you would only teach us all,” he murmured, “how to acquire it. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. 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. A lucky escape.
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