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. Together they made their painful way to the door, not even checking, in the effort this cost both, on what Gosse might be doing. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss.
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