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. ’ Mrs Sindlesham’s lips twitched. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. ” He ruminated for a minute. Once they were below, McClintock turned upon the doctor. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. There’s always friction, conflict, unwilling concessions. "Remember; we must keep the young fellow's thoughts away from himself.
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