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. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. “For men have reason, women rhyme A man scores always, all the time. You promise me you’ll never grow old, you hear?” “I promise. I don’t see any good in life if it hasn’t got you in it. E below. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him.
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