‘As for you—’ ‘Do not address me. ” Ann Veronica had remained standing while her aunt spoke. " "Good news will be news to me. ” She said. 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. The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you.
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