‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. He hasn't found himself, as they say. 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 replied. ” He smiled, and she felt love for him in that moment as the smile lit up his ebony eyes, eyes whose blackness seemed unfathomable. On the other hand, there was a subconscious impression that she would be able to read instantly anything unclean in a man's eye.
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