Don’t ask me how. In the end he broke his own heart along with your mother's. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. " "I know what is good," she replied. 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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