Her fingers were bursting through her gloves, as if to get at once into touch with Ann Veronica. Or mad, just as the captain had said so many times. ‘I have justice. Sepulchre's church. 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. She was a swan among geese, trying to look plain and dowdy.
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