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. Sooner or later we’ll certainly do something to clean those prisons you told me about—limewash the underside of life. Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. The great untrodden world was before her still, into which no one can pass alone. I don’t wish to marry you at all. \" He rose and departed.
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