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. I WAS talking to him before I saw his name on the card beside the row of microscopes. ‘It looked to me as if he was playing games with Madame Valade,’ Lucilla said frankly. ‘This is altogether insupportable!’ She dug a hand into the recesses of the petticoat of her riding habit and a moment later Gerald found himself once again confronting the barrel of her overlarge and tarnished pistol. ‘Ain’t no call for you to go a-blaming of yourself.
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