You have changed from the veriest butterfly to a woman—you wear different clothes, you have the air of another world. Maggot. Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. She took a few of his things before she scanned the area. 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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