‘He was very kind to me. Mr. She took to listening through closed doors. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. Sister Angelina shook her head as if to say that such ignorance was beyond her. 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. 8. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her.
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