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. Oh, the beautiful books! Romance, adventure, love stories! She gathered up the books in her arms and cuddled them, as a mother might have cuddled a child. That's worth something to me; for I don't mind paying for revenge. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. M.
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