Ramage looked at her for a long and discriminating interval without speaking. Why not kill her here, and leave silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention to kill her? En tout cas, it gave her a chance. “Julian, please, let’s go to your place. “His love-making,” she remarked, “struck me as unconvincing. 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. He was in a position to help her. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. Always.
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