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. Scissors with which to cut her hair, just in case. A little table covered with a damask cloth was dragged out. She pulled, he rose to his feet. It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect.
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