I don’t care! I’m glad I did. Lucy and Mike watched the exchange of high school Spanish with feigned interest. John moved closer to her, getting up from his roost by one bench, he joined her at the bench where she sat. 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.
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