Little woman, you have been brave enough before. Clergymen were human. She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. 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. I’ll take over here. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about.
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