. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him. Ten thousand islands, and each one good for a night's rest. Of course he hadn't played the game wisely. 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.
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