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. ’ Was there a careful note in her voice? Gerald gave no sign, keeping his own tone light. "Ah! who have we here?" exclaimed Griffin. "Where is the boy?" demanded Sir Rowland. The smell of laundry detergent was noticeable, the bed sheets very tightly stretched across the bed, tucked in on three sides.
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