Towards this spot Mrs. 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. ” They were in the elder Widgett girl’s bedroom; Hetty was laid up, she said, with a sprained ankle, and a miscellaneous party was gossiping away her tedium. But I never found any truth in the saying. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. . He walked in her direction.
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