A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. 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. \"The servants will hear you!\" \"I don't care! Why do you?” She cried. Perhaps her granddaughter might marry his grandson. After all, what could happen? He was looking at her very hard and earnestly. You say that you only love Captain Darrell as a brother—" "Mr. ’ ‘Why should I?’ ‘Because I can’t live without you!’ ‘That is your own affair, and—’ Melusine broke off, staring at him, shocked realisation kicking in her gut.
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