” He looked at Lucy. 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 drove her home that night, kissing her again and again at stoplights. ” “Alive! In London!” Annabel moaned. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. ‘Come,’ she called. If we were set upon I could not defend you.
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