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. Sometimes he was obviously irritable and uncomfortable and unfortunate in his efforts to seem at ease. So Mrs. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda.
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