Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair. It was his turn to express astonishment. 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. Not all of us, but some of us. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year.
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