Her body rose up to meet his in a cat-like stretch and she smiled. 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. “My dear boy,” she exclaimed. So you, Jacques, must go and wait for me with the horse. “Who decorated the school like this?” She asked, peering up at the multicolored banners that hung everywhere.
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