Sir John hesitated, and then continued. 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. My Mom and Dad were on the brink of divorce, what else is new, they still are. “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. None presented themselves to save him from that return. Lucy looked about confusedly. It is a precaution merely. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station.
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