The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. ” Mr. When they made love, he seemed to shift into the realm of possessiveness. 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. I'm almost sorry your suspicions are unfounded, if your father in any way resembled you, my youngster.
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