and those two beggars laughing as they breasted death! Girl, you've gone and done it!" He leaned down and caught her by the hand, and then raced with her to the bungalow. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. 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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