I can’t help it. Pardon! I wish to say, for your granddaughter, we seek succour. He was a business man, pure and simple, his eyes were fastened always upon the practical side of life. 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. Even now, during the recurring doubts of the future, the thought of the island was repellent. Gwen—I saw Gwen the other day, and the paint’s thicker than ever.
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