” She was silent, and in the gloom of the dimly lit apartment he could not see her face. 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. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. ” “Again,” he said, “I am going to be impertinent. We can take our things up with us and stay at the Continental or the Ritz. That glove is still preserved.
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