Anna sprang to her feet and made for the dressing-room door. 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. Annabel had spoken calmly enough and steadily, but his brain refused at first to accept the full meaning of her words.
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